In Shadows
by TeenMuggle
Summary: The lands of Middle-Earth have known twenty five years of peace after the fall of Sauron, yet an ancient enemy is about to resurface. The children of the heroes of the War of the Ring must now take up their parents' mantle and defend their people from this new threat. Secrets start to form and a new power rises within them. Can they master it in time? Set in the Fourth Age.
1. Prologue- The Shadow Begins

**A/N: Hey folks! First story in a while! This is also my first attempt at writing an LoTR fic. I've deliberately stayed away from Tolkien until now as the complexity and richness of his work was too daunting. Decided to bite the bullet now! All errors in Middle-Earth history/geography etc are entirely my own.**

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 **Note this fic is based more on the books than the movies, though there are elements of both within it, a bit of mix and match if you will. This fic takes place about 25 years after the War of the Ring and is a sort of AU as I have lifted some people/events from the Appendices and adapted others. It will also feature some references to events in the Silmarillion. Main characters will be the children of those in LotR, though most of them will also feature at some point as well.**

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The Shadow Begins

It lay within a shadowed valley, seeming to grow out of the very backbone of the Ephel Duath, its many towers and steep walls as dark as the earth that surrounded it. Once it had been a vale of light and beauty, the city a shining bastion of illumination for the weary hearts and souls of travellers. More recently it had been a beacon of horror, sending waves of terror through anyone unfortunate enough to glimpse it within its corrupt valley of death. The luminous glow it once had was now extinguished, but despite the city's emptiness, the sense of watchfulness had not abated. Though the foul stream that once had led there was now dry, the bridge shattered and the fields surrounded it reduced to ashes, evil still lurked there.

Minas Morgul, once Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, was abandoned, bereft of all foul things that had made it their home in the years of darkness. Men of Gondor had no wish to resettle here; the land too tainted for anyone to thrive save the lowliest beasts, nor would they even if the land were fertile, for still the memory of this evil place lingered and none would dare set foot here. Even the decrees of King Elessar, swift and relentless in the early years of his reign in ordering the immediate destruction of the city had not resulted in much success. The outer wall had been demolished quickly, but when the workers of Gondor started to fall prey to a malign sickness that quickly rooted itself in their very bones, they soon abandoned the endeavour, trusting to the valley's reputation to deter outside infiltrators.

A mistake they soon shall regret.

The shadowy figure surveyed the valley, a glimmer of hope in his eye, his upper lip curling. The legends then were true. Nothing could live here long, nothing could bear it. Good then that he was not counted among the living.

The fall of Sauron over one score years ago had not killed off the darkness in Middle-Earth. Indeed, his removal had caused much of it to thrive, free now to spread and multiply in a way once impossible with his powerful presence in the world. The shadowy figure smiled. He had not felt this powerful in many an age. Finally, he was free from the eternal imprisonment to which he had been confined. First Morgoth, then Sauron had prevented him from gaining back the power he had been denied. But now both of them were gone beyond the circles of the world. Slowly he had been building his strength and now at last he could come out into the open once more to fulfil the task he had been set countless years before.

Doom lay upon this task as it had from the very beginning. He had suffered under that doom, as had his people, but this ancient grievance could not be laid aside so easily. It _must_ be accomplished. Family honour demanded it. He could never have rested until it was complete.

The figure turned his head as another shadowy form appeared at his shoulder. An Orc. Foul as the rest of its kin, yet more so, for this Orc was also not of the living, and if possible, more detestable than any Man would ever think possible of an Orc. The shadowy figure turned away slightly, disgusted by the other's presence, yet knew it was necessary. _Sometimes we must do the unthinkable to achieve the impossible._

"We take the city then?" the Orc grunted, leering at the sight before him.

"Indeed."

The Orc spat on the ground. "It's a Man-city. With an Elvish name. It's not our way."

"It is a ready-made fortress," the shadowy figure replied, eyes fixed on the city. "Evil dwelt here many centuries and made it strong. Elves and Men will not dare tread here. It suits our purpose precisely."

The Orc looked unimpressed. "And look what happened to them. Morgoth's little pet was destroyed by half-grown _Men_. How strong could they have been?"

The shadowy figure smiled. "This shall be our city," he said, ignoring his companion. "This shall be the place that shadow will flourish and grow strong once more. Realms shall fall. _Mountains_ shall fall. Even the evil that dwelt there before could not have stood in our way."

The Orc grinned an ugly leering grin, revealing a maw of fangs and stench of decay on his breath. He turned and issued a bellowing cry to the darkness behind him, a cry that echoed across the detestable valley making the very stones tremble.

Slowly, out of the darkness, shapes appeared. Orcs. Shadowed Orcs, neither living nor dead. They glowed with a luminosity that was not natural, a light not wholesome but cold and glowering. A part of the shadow they seemed, like lights in the night sky, only these lights promised naught but death and despair. Like a colony of ants they fell upon the city in droves, more and more emerging from the blackness to occupy this once fair city with evil once more.

The shadowy figure stood and watched from his perch upon the ridge at the mouth of the valley as the unearthly gleam of Minas Morgul was slowly restored. Cold and deathly was the light, more malevolent, more sinister than it had looked at its height under Sauron the Abhorrent.

His long wait was now finally over. His long-forgotten oath would be fulfilled.

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Screams rang out through the smoke of the burning village. Black smoke and orange flame was all that was left of the world around them. They were dying.

The Rider of Rohan had sped to the village once he had spied the plume of black on the horizon on his patrols of the East Emnet, his horse close to collapsing under him. The searing heat as he approached had made his heart quail in terror, yet he continued on, hoping against hope he could do some good here. Yet what could he do? One man against such an inferno?

Already he could see blackened corpses amongst the houses and his stomach turned in revulsion. A flash of colour met his eyes, and to his relief he could see a fleeing mass of people emerging from the flames, alive by some wondrous chance. His heart was lifted. The very next moment however his courage almost failed him altogether when he saw what it was they were truly running from.

He had never seen Orcs before. He had been but a child during Théoden's reign, safely ensconced in the caverns at Helm's Deep for the wars that had plagued his homeland. They had all but disappeared from the land after the battle at Pelennor. However even he knew what Orcs were supposed to look like; he had listened to the tales of his elders. Something was different about these Orcs. Were they supposed to be that tall? Why did they glow like that? What evil was this?

He watched helplessly as the lead Orc began to cut down those villagers that lagged behind, a gleam in his eyes that could stop the heart of a lesser man. But a courage had risen in him that he had not known he had possessed. One man alone he may be, but he was a Rider of the Mark, a servant of King Éomer who had decreed long ago that no man, woman or child of the Riddermark would ever be subject to evil again. If die he would, then he would fall in the service of his king, and of the greater good.

He drew his sword and charged his horse forwards. "For Rohan!"

The Orcs did not draw back as he approached. They did not falter, not even seem to acknowledge his presence. Not until he was upon them did the lead Orc turn to face him. A face loomed out of the darkness, a skull-like face with eyes that were as black as night, but home to a swirling abyss of flame and shadow. A cold dread seized him then. The thing that faced him was no Orc. It was a demon of shadow, a fell creature from beyond the grave.

His sword shone with fire as he raised it above his head. He brought it down full force upon the head of the Orc before him. Instead of slicing through flesh and bone, his sword seemed to pass through the air, slowed only by a slight resistance, as though through water. He almost dropped his weapon in shock as instead of the thick black blood he had heard tell of, black shadow seemed to issue from the wound, snaking from the Orc like smoke. The Orc fell, and more of the shadow seeped from it, joining the blackness of the surrounding air. The corpse seemed to shrivel up until it was nothing more than black mark on the earth.

 _What devilry is this?_

The lead Orc, its sword stained with red, now approached him. It spoke in a strange language and laughed, and the surrounding Orcs joined in until he was surrounded by a chorus of baying horrible monsters.

 _There could be no escape from this._

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The Scout from Gondor worried when his counterpart from Rohan did not meet him at the prescribed hour. It was most irregular. Since Elessar and Éomer's reaffirmation of the bonds of old between the kingdoms it had been customary for riders of both lands to patrol the borders with a continuous rotation. Where the two lands converged at the small yet significant Mering stream it was customary for the riders to meet their counterparts and report any observations. The young rider from Rohan whose rotation always coincided with his own had never missed a meeting during his tenure.

The Scout waited at the spot beside the stream all day, straining his eyes across the plains of Rohan for a glimpse of the eager lad who always had such vigour and passion, despite the mundanity of his posting. The much older Scout was satisfied with his lot, patrolling the province of Anórien and meeting the rider from the Eastfold every month. It was not a taxing position; the very thing for one whose bones were beginning to creak, and whose shoulder had never quite recovered from the sack of Osgiliath.

As night began to fall his misgivings intensified. What should he do? Should he attempt to find out what had happened? He doubted whether he should enter into Rohan; the laws on respecting sovereignty were very clear. Yet it did not seem right to him to continue on.

He climbed onto his horse and began to ride away. The next two riders should arrive within the next few days, and he could not stray from his own schedule. If anything had gone ill with the boy the next horseman would discover it, and unlike the Scout would have the authority to act.

His horse stopped in its tracks, and unbidden turned back to the Mering Stream as though some unknown force was compelling it. The Scout hesitated.

The old soldier was awake inside him once more. Something was wrong here and every instinct was telling him to go and find out what. A fire he had not known since his youth in Lord Boromir's platoon surged forth from within.

Without another thought he spurred his horse onwards and splashed through the waters of the stream into the realm of Rohan.

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 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Please leave some feedback if you did, or some constructive criticism.**

 **Next chapter we meet two of our main characters: Eldarion, son of Elessar, and Elboron, son of Faramir. Since we know next to nothing about them from Tolkien, I have written them almost as OCs and completely invented their characters and appearance. I have also altered their birth dates so that they are of similar ages in this fic.**

 **Hope you choose to read on! :)**


	2. Chapter 1- A Disturbing Report

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reading this! :)**

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A Disturbing Report

In the barracks of the Citadel Guard the training arena was thronged with soldiers both from the Guard and other companies, all eagerly pushing their way through the ranks to get a better view of proceedings. An event highly anticipated and long overdue, none wanted to miss a single instant. A few latecomers flew inside to join the crowd which lined the four walls of the arena with all their faces turned into the centre and the two men who stood there.

Raegon, towering and broad, the foremost warrior of Gondor stood at one end, covered head to foot in fine, thick armour that shone in the light and shimmered as he moved. His helm obscured most of his face, but a dark scowl was yet visible, and all could see the way his hands were tightly clenched on his sword and the tenseness in his strong shoulders. Veteran of the king's campaigns against the Easterlings, he had experience on his side and a lot of it. All who faced him in battle fled before him. He was a mass of power, a giant of Gondor and one of its finest sons.

Across from him stood a man even taller, yet slender and slight in figure, deceptively so, for this man's strength was no less. Almost two decades the other man's junior, his face was youthful and fresh, yet in his features there lay a trace of nobility that promised to grow yet more so in time. No helm was upon his head of raven black hair, and his grey eyes sparkled with a hidden fervour. Those who looked upon him for the first time would attest that they were not fully certain whether this individual was Man or Elf, for his fair features and slightly pointed ears were disarming to their clearly defined notions of what was what. A Man he was, yet not fully so, for he was the son of Elessar and Undómiel, the image of his father in youth but still possessing the Elven features of his mother's kin. The name chosen for him reflected this dual heritage. He was Eldarion, Child of the Eldar.

Raegon and Eldarion faced each other, weapons in hands and feet light and ready for action. Eldarion offered a smile to Raegon's scowl. No scores of battles had he been in, but he had youth on his side, and rarely burdened himself with heavy armour, choosing to fight in a light coat of mail only. Raegon was strong, but slow. And he was in a foul mood.

Raegon let loose a war cry that once had sounded across the battlefields in the south, but Eldarion showed no fear. He nimbly leapt out of the way of the warrior's strong blow and twisted his body round to face the back of him. His eyes remained fixed on his opponent, alert for every shifting of his weight, every motion no matter how slight. Raegon spun around and quick as a flash Eldarion had parried the man's latest blow, the sound of steel on steel loud across the arena where the crowd watched in captivated silence. A few more blows rained down on him but Eldarion parried each one and with each strike he took a step forward, bearing down on his opponent and gaining ground.

Raegon was losing patience and Eldarion knew it. He was a man that thought little, trusting to strength than wisdom. Persistence would win the day.

A few moments later and Eldarion saw his opening. He'd left his left flank exposed, and Eldarion knew only too well how to take advantage of that. Raegon lunged for him with a blow so powerful it would have knocked the youth clean off his feet, yet it was he who somehow ended up flat on his back, a sword resting lightly on his throat as Eldarion smiled down at him.

The watching crowd cheered, and there was a clinking of coins as wagers exchanged hands. Eldarion laughed lightly and lifted his sword, sheathing it at his hip.

"Perhaps now you will not be so quick to dismiss me, Raegon," he said, a smirk still on his face. "I warned you this would happen if you continued as you did."

A few scattered laughs greeted this as several men nodded fiercely, cheering once again. Raegon reached up and wrenched his helm from his head, dark hair plastered to his pink forehead.

"A boy like you should not be so quick to cause insult to your elders," he spat, lurching to his feet. "Regardless of who your father is."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Eldarion snapped, his hand resting on his sword.

"It means," Raegon said, stepping closer, "that being the son of the king does not mean you can be so careless with your words and your sword. You cannot swan around this city as you like, pampered lord one day and soldier the next. You know nothing of what it is to be a warrior. You know nothing of what it is to be a _man_ , Peredhel."

The room had gone silent again, eyes nervously flicking between the two men. Eldarion stared the man down coldly, his hand tightening on his blade.

"Perhaps you suggest that some form of Elvish magic protects me, Raegon," Eldarion said, his jaw tight. "I assure you that is not the case. Elven strength I may have inherited from my mother, but my skills as a fighter are entirely my own. A sore loser is what you are, and pitiful is the man who seeks to lay blame for his own frailties upon others."

Raegon scoffed, and turned his back on the young man. "And a man who lives on the glory of the deeds of his father rather than on his own is equally as pathetic."

Eldarion felt a spike of rage ignite within him, yet before he could draw his sword, a small hand rested on his shoulder.

"It would stand you in good stead, Raegon," said the figure beside him, "if you were to speak fairer words to your prince. Disloyalty to the crown is a far greater shame than being knocked to the ground by a superior opponent in this realm. Particularly by one of the Citadel Guard."

Raegon made no reply, and barged his way out of the arena through shocked onlookers. Eldarion cursed to himself for making such a show. Half the city would hear of this in an hour. The other half seemed to be here already.

He turned to the man at his shoulder as the crowd began to dissipate. "Thank you, Elboron."

His friend smiled. "Just in time to prevent you making another rash decision, I take it?"

"As always," Eldarion said, beginning to laugh.

Elboron smiled once more, but soon his face was troubled and he gave his usual disappointed pout.

"You need to be more careful, Eldarion. You cannot be seen to be picking fights with your father's personal guard."

"I know, but I am sick of his insinuations and snide comments. I cannot let that slide."

"Perhaps not, but there are better ways of dealing with it." Elboron sighed and shook his head. "You cannot challenge every man you disagree with to a duel. You'll get yourself into serious trouble one day, my friend."

Eldarion nodded, seeing the wisdom in his friend's words. Yet that wisdom always seemed so far away to him when in the heat of the moment. He had never been one to think through his actions. In that, he and Elboron were as different as night and day. The other young man could sit for hours at a time in total silence with only the company of his thoughts or an old scroll. Too long now had he been acting as Eldarion's unofficial counsel. Good practice, Elboron always said, for when he succeeded his father as Steward.

"Lord Eldarion!" The two men looked up as a servant approached them and bowed. "Your father requests your presence at once, my lord. And yours also, Lord Elboron."

Eldarion felt a rising panic. His father had heard of this already? He exchanged a worried glance with his friend before the two of them made their way out of the barracks. Neither said a word as they followed the servant to the Citadel, passing the White Tree in its courtyard. As always when he passed, Eldarion slowed his step to gaze upon it, thinking of its history and significance in this city of stone, the tree of his ancestors. Raegon's words came back to him unbidden. _A man who lives on the glory of the deeds of his father rather than on his own ..._

They were ushered into the throne room immediately by some of the Citadel Guard (those who had evidently not gone to watch the fight) and were brought before the throne of the king. Eldarion's father was not seated upon it, but stood at its base. Though now well over a hundred years old, King Elessar was not yet old and withered. His dark hair was stringed with grey and his face had several lines graven upon it, but his body was yet full of vitality and his face had lost none of its noble quality. The green elfstone that was his namesake gleamed at his breast, but instead of lighting his face as usual, his father seemed grim and tense. A scout stood by him, evidently by his dress and demeanour only recently arrived in the city. Inwardly Eldarion relaxed; it appeared his deeds in the barracks had not yet reached his father's ears.

He and Elboron bowed their heads as they approached. His father gestured to the scout.

"A disturbing report has reached me from Rohan," he began, "and I would have you both here to hear it."

"From Rohan?" Eldarion frowned. "What scouts have we in Rohan?"

"None," his father replied. The scout shifted his feet.

"I entered into that land, prince, without authority. No insult intended to your uncle, my lord," he said hastily to Elboron. "I pray King Éomer forgives the intrusion when he learns of what has occurred in his land."

Elboron blinked in surprise and looked to the king, whose lips had tightened. "This news must be conveyed to Éomer but I also ask you here, Elboron, not as Éomer's nephew, but in your newest capacity as Captain of the Tower."

Elboron nodded, but Eldarion knew that the younger man was alarmed by this. Barely turned eighteen he had only recently taken on the hereditary title of the oldest son of the Steward, last held by his father during the War of the Ring twenty-five years ago. A title only reluctantly accepted.

Eldarion and Elboron listened as the scout related his patrol of Anórien and the missed rendezvous with the man of Rohan, and the man's decision to enter into that land without leave. He told of how he soon came upon a burnt-out village in the Eastfold in the shadows of the White Mountains.

"It was no ordinary fire, my lords," the man said, his face pale and wan. "Everything was ash, nothing remained, not even bodies. None escaped." He paused before continuing in a voice that began to tremble. "There was one man yet alive. It was the lad from the Eastfold. Just a boy really. He hadn't been burned. He was staked out upon the ground, naked, half of his skin sliced off so that from a distance I'd thought he was a butchered animal." The man steadied himself with a breath. "He'd been there a full day in the sun like that, barely alive, going slowly mad with pain. He was ranting in Rohirric and seemed not to understand my questions. In the end I got something out of him in Westron. Orcs, he said to me, though not Orcs of the common variety. Taller than men they were, glowing like malevolent stars, and when struck, they bled shadows. Barely had he said this when he finally died."

A chill went down Eldarion's spine as he saw the terror in the man's eyes. Orcs, in Rohan? There had been nothing like it since Eldarion's childhood in the early years of his father's reign. And what manner of Orcs were they that bled shadows?

Elboron had gone still beside him, and Eldarion knew he grieved for this man. He took everything so to heart, and this more so, for the dead were of his mother's people.

His father turned to the two youths, expression troubled. "An incursion by Orcs into the West is something we must address swiftly lest we return to the days of old. I cannot think whence these creatures came, for they must have crossed many lands to reach the Eastfold and it seems impossible to me that they were not seen."

"They must have come from the Misty Mountains," Eldarion reasoned. "It is the only place they have left in Middle-Earth. As for how they reached the Eastfold …"

"Why the Eastfold?" Elboron asked, frowning. "What is there to be gained in massacring an insignificant village?"

"The creation of terror was ever the Enemy's greatest weapon," his father said gravely. He turned to the scout and dismissed him. "I have no time to send word to Éomer, so we must act without him. Eldarion, assemble a unit of cavalry to track down these Orcs. Be ready to leave before nightfall and ride swiftly to the border. Track them down and destroy them if possible. If not, find out whence they came and their company size and armament. Take whomever you see fit, but take Bergil with you at least."

Eldarion scoffed. "Bergil? He is a-"

"A lot more experienced in warfare than my twenty year old son," his father said, sternly, and he knew there would be no argument. He looked to Elboron. "I place you second-in-command, representing both Gondor and Rohan for this concerns both kingdoms."

Elboron nodded, and bowed. Eldarion glanced at him, wondering how he really felt about this. Though possessing the golden hair of the Rohirrim, like his father before him Elboron was a reluctant fighter. He often wondered if the king had been right to appoint him to his father's old position.

His father paused, looking over them both. "I fear a return to the days of raiding parties of Orcs in the West. I want you to make sure that does not happen. Go now and prepare."

They murmured their assent and turned to leave, but Eldarion was called back by his father.

"I want you to be careful, my son," he said to him, as Elboron left. "This news disturbs me greatly. I do not know if this mission is wise."

Eldarion breathed deeply, keeping his temper and pushing back the hurt he felt. "I am quite capable, father."

"I know you are a capable fighter, but that is not all that matters in situations as these," his father said. "You must also take time to think through your actions, to take the advice of those older and more experienced. You are still young-"

"You fought in wars when you were my age," Eldarion retorted. "You were out winning glory on the battlefield with as little experience as me."

"I was not winning glory," his father said gently, expression softening. "I was fighting a rising evil that threatened our very existence. I did not seek to win anything other than peace."

 _But you did not have a father such as mine_ , Eldarion thought, glancing at the sword on his father's hip, the Sword of Elendil. _How am I ever supposed to live up to that?_

His father followed his gaze and sighed. "You are often too rash, Eldarion," he said. "That is what I fear for you; that fighting has become something of a hobby when it should only ever be a necessity."

He sighed again, and met his son's gaze with eyes as grey as his own. "I heard about your planned duel with Raegon. I had hoped you were past this foolishness."

Eldarion tore his eyes away from his father, a sinking feeling in his gut. "Sorry to disappoint you, my lord."

His father was silent a moment longer, hesitating as though wishing to say something more but not knowing how.

"I digress," he said finally with a heavy tone. "I was speaking of the report. These Orcs are unlike any I have heard of, more formidable and likely dangerous. You have not yet been tested against ordinary Orcs, and I fear these may prove a challenge you are not prepared for."

Eldarion looked up, a new determination flooding through him. "What else could they be but ordinary Orcs?" he asked. "I can do this, Father. I will go and meet this Orc-pack and destroy them as you ask. Perhaps then I will prove myself in the least bit worthy of you."

Before his father could say anything else he turned and swiftly left the room. Once into the courtyard he took a deep breath and tried to stay his rapid heart. All he seemed to do these days was to somehow disappoint his father. Always he was too focused on swordcraft or stories of the glory of Númenor, too prideful, too competitive … the burden of his father's accomplishments had lain on him always. Now that Sauron was gone, with what was he to win renown? His father's purpose had always been clear, but what of his own?

At least this band of Orcs would be a start. He stared straight ahead at the Tree for one last look before heading back to the barracks to select his company. The white branches filled his vision, reminding him of all the glory of his forebears with its brilliance.

The vision swam before his eyes, burning its way into his mind, before suddenly changing right before him. In that moment he beheld not the White Tree he knew, but a vast waterfall in a narrow gully, glowing orange with the light of a dying sun. It lasted a brief moment and in that moment he experienced a wave of profound sadness and frustration he could not explain. The vision flickered for an instant, alternating between tree and waterfall before finally vanishing, leaving him staring at the White Tree as before, as though nothing strange had occurred.

He stood still for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He blinked a few times, trying to see if the waterfall would return. When several minutes had passed, the vision seemed almost like a dream and he began to relax somewhat.

He shook himself and started to march out of the courtyard towards the barracks. His encounter with his father had shaken him more than he had thought.

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 **A/N: This story, as stated before, although set in the Fourth Age, will be slightly different to the one laid out by Tolkien. I've taken certain characters and ideas and moved them around a little to suit my story, especially with the dates of birth of Eldarion and Elboron and a few other minor things.**

 **Also, any Elvish (including made up names) which I use in this story is the result of a lot of careful research, but I admit may be totally wrong. If anyone knows better than I, please let me know!**

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 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Peredhel- Half-elf**

 **Name Translations (OCs)**

 **Raegon- Crooked/wrong one (Sindarin)**


	3. Chapter 2- The Princess

The Princess

 **A/N:** **It's been a while since I posted the first two chapters and I can only apologise! Life got in the way as it always does. But I'm please to report that Chapter 3 is finally here. Hope you enjoy!**

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The water lapped gently over the young elf's feet, and she laughed, her voice clear and joyful. The water here was fast flowing, yet not fierce, sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the heavy canopy of Mirkwood, its quiet babbling a welcome sound amidst the heavy stillness the rest of the forest offered. Resting on the banks of the forest stream was a daily pilgrimage for the young elf; it was here she felt most at peace, among the trees and water that she loved, part of both, sundered from neither. Her mother, a Water Elf, had had little love for trees and her father, the Wood Elf, was likewise indifferent to water. Strange then that they had found such love for each other and brought a child into the world that would love both. Neniel Galadhwen. Daughter of both Water and the Forest.

Lost in thoughts of her mother, Neniel closed her eyes and allowed memory to overtake her, smiling as the bliss of her surroundings soothed her weary body. The sun was warm on her skin and the water tickled her foot as it dangled in the stream. A nagging thought entered the back of her mind. She had come here for a reason. She had a mission to fulfil. Now what was it?

She sat up straight, withdrawing her foot from the water and tucking it under her, frowning as she tried to remember, bringing her thoughts back to the present. Of course, she had to report to her grandfather. Her survey of the woods and waters had given her some troubling news to take back to the Palace. How careless of her to have forgotten. Her grandfather would not be pleased.

She sighed and stood up, slipping on her light shoes before passing back under the shadow of the trees, keeping her pace quick so she would be back before she was missed. Her father and grandfather had often berated her for her empty-headedness; her often thoughtless acts were unbecoming for one of her station. Yet they were not too harsh with their words; she was young yet, especially for an elf, barely halfway to the age of maturity of fifty. In human terms she was little more than a child. Or so she was told.

She certainly looked young, even for one of the Firstborn. Unlike most of her father's kin, she was not tall, taking after the Water Elves of Rhûn, and was so slight she appeared able to be blown away by a mere breath of wind. Her skin was pale as moonlight, hair dark as the night sky and eyes as silver as the waters of the forest. Great beauty she had, yet not of a kind of her elders, for theirs was ageless and profound. She with all the freshness of youth was far livelier in her appearance and demeanour, quick to laugh at the ridiculous and sing nonsense to the stars. The last elf to be born in Middle Earth.

The forest path quickly brought her to the Halls of the Elvenking and she was escorted without ceremony through the great stone gates at the bridge and within the palace itself. The Elves around her nodded their heads to her, smiling as they did so, though a worry lay heavy on their brows. Neniel almost faltered in her step, reminded of her own woeful news. She hated to be the bearer of tidings so troubling. She did not like the solemnity of it all.

Her escort brought her to the Council Chambers, where the Royal Court was in session. The Elvenking sat at the head of the table, his son Legolas on his right, various advisors bearing frowns seated around him. As she entered all looked up and the anxious expressions of the two royals faded somewhat as they beheld her.

" _Neniel_ , _ioniell nîn,"_ the king smiled, standing to greet her. " _Mae athollen_. _Glass nín le achened*._ I am pleased you are home."

"And I too, _hîr nîn,"_ Neniel said, bowing formally once, before allowing a broad smile to break upon her face. "It is but a week since I went away. Have you missed me so much, grandfather?"

Her grandfather laughed and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Every day is an age when you are away from this palace, Neniel. You keep this place alive."

She laughed with him and then ducked behind to embrace her father, who had also risen to his feet. "Did you miss me, _adar?"_

"As always," he said, chuckling softly, arm around her back. She moved away, looking towards the royal advisors, who witnessed this display with a slight reticence. Such public informalities, though pleasing to their hearts and minds, was not considered appropriate for such serious times. The sight dampened her joy immediately. Thranduil noticed this.

"What news do you have for us?"

She sighed. "Nothing of good to report. The forest to the south of the mountains is darkening. The trees are losing their voices and their light. Black are their thoughts and cruel their actions. The little streams and pools of the south are murky and foul. A shadow is growing there. Orcs have been treading through the waters."

Glances were exchanged and hearts were heavy. Her father's face darkened. "I have heard this also from the Dwarves passing along the Old Forest Road," he said. "They fear the darkness that once plagued the Greenwood is returning."

"Prince Legolas, you cannot mean the darkness of Dol Guldur," one of the advisors said. "The overthrow of the Nameless One meant an end to it."

"Evil lingers long in places it once dwelt," the king said, glancing at his son. "The Necromancer may be gone, but foul things are still drawn there from time to time." He looked to Neniel. "Did you approach the old fortress?"

"It lies still in ruin," she said, shuddering at the memory of that dark place. "But I sense Orcs had been there recently. Their foulness was fresh."

"But how could they have crossed the Anduin and entered the forest unseen?" an advisor asked.

"We must investigate this," the king decided. "I will not have the shadow of before descend upon my kingdom. We fought too long and hard to destroy it. Legolas," he said, turning to his son. "Take a small company of warriors to the south and discover what this new evil is. If it is Orcs, destroy them."

"Yes, _adar._ I will leave at once."

The advisors began to leave the room, muttering darkly, but Neniel remained, looking to her family. A growing sense of uneasiness grew within her.

"I should like to go too," she said quickly, making the other two look up in surprise.

"You?" her grandfather asked, eyebrows raised. "You've never volunteered before."

"This is different," Neniel said. She thought for a moment. Though her father and other tutors had indeed taught her well in the skills of a warrior as a child, she had had little use for her skills thus far. This was an age of peace, so the bards said. And so she had lived, moving dreamily between her home in Mirkwood and with her mother's people in Rhûn. That peace was being threatened now. Should she not defend it? "I wish to serve this kingdom, as any other Elf may do. To defend my home."

Her father smiled, and moved to stand in front of her. "You are too young, Neniel," he said fondly. "Your soul is too carefree, too full of light. Battle is not for you. Not yet. Nor would I wish it so."

On some level, she agreed with him. She knew well that she lacked the dogged determination and steadfast conviction of her grandfather's warriors. But her heart rebelled. Too strong was her love for her home, for the peace she enjoyed with her family. She needed to protect that.

"I am the princess, am I not?" she asked, looking up at him. "You have always taught me of duty. Is this not it?"

"It is your duty to stay, Neniel," her grandfather said, coming to stand on her other side, hemming her in. "You are too precious to us. It is not only your youth and naivety cause you to be so cherished among us. I cannot send both my heirs on such a dangerous mission. Short scouting trips does not prepare you for this scale of peril. King Nenwëevaner would not wish it either."

Neniel frowned at the mention of her other grandfather, leader of the Elves of the inland Sea of Rhûn. What had he to do with this decision?

Thranduil shook his head at her expression. "You are an heir to both kingdoms, my child," he said gently. "A vital link between the two. We cannot risk you."

"And what if I want to be more than a link?" she asked. She met her grandfather's eyes. "I love both the woods and the water. I serve both realms willingly. I wish to prove that to the people and to myself."

"Then prove it by staying safe, here in Mirkwood," Thranduil said, and thought for a moment. "Perhaps you should not journey to Rhûn for the foreseeable future. Not until the roads are safer. Faervel is an excellent escort, but he is not infallible."

She remained silent. Ever was it thus. Once in either kingdom, neither grandfather wished to let go of her. Neither seemed to understand her wish to go between both as she desired, to walk one day under trees and another to wade through the clear waters of the Running River that fed into the Rhûn. Was she always to be a bridge between the two? Was there no other way for them to always solve their petty disputes than relying on her? She looked to her father, his expression saying he agreed with the king. Was this the real reason she had been born? To bring peace between two arguing realms that should know better? Centuries they had had to end their bitter feud, but now she was the one they relied on. Well, she wanted no such burden. She would serve the kingdoms she loved in her own way. She would not be confined to the life of a diplomat.

"Please," she said, making one last bid with her father. "Allow me to come with you."

"I would not risk you for all of Arda, my daughter," he said. "You were not made for war. Let your heart be free of all this. Be as merry and free-spirited as you always are, that way proving that shadows shall not overcome us."

She fell back, disappointment filling her heart. "Young and untested I may be, but not free of suffering. The Water Elves of Rhûn suffered almost entire annihilation in the Second Age at the Deceiver's hands. I would prevent further loss if I could. And also," she said, eying her father, "I wonder if the reason I am denied is more to do with my mother."

Her father stiffened and blinked quickly, as he always did at the mention of her mother. For him, the grief had never faded. "Your mother would not wish you to suffer her fate," he said, voice carefully steady. "She had a greater vision for you."

"I am not she," Neniel said, misery filling her heart. "Protecting me shall not recover her."

She turned and left the Council Chambers, too upset to face her family for present. She did not stop walking until outside of the Palace entirely, standing on the bridge over the river where she breathed the free air.

 _She had a greater vision for you_. She scoffed. A child born for nothing but uniting the realms. She did not doubt her parents had had great love for each other; that was the only way such an unorthodox match could be explained. No dialogue had existed between the two kingdoms for centuries until the two had chanced on each other while visiting Erebor. She was the result. _Sídhiel_ the people had called her at her birth: Child of Peace. Fated by her parents to assume a role she did not want. Why must her role be so formal? Could she not just enjoy both kingdoms on her own terms? She felt like Lúuthien, her kinswoman of old, trapped within the Girdle of Melian while one she loved took on the darkness. Would that she had a Hound of the Maiar to guide her as she did.

She sighed in frustration and turned to face the stream in its narrow gully and the waterfall which fell just upriver from the bridge. Its loud torrent matched her wild mood this evening, the fiery orange it had turned by the setting sun was like the flame of her spirit. Seldom was she ever as riled up as this. She always was transient with her thoughts, laughing off all serious matters. Her long peace was at an end.

She stared long and hard at the waterfall, wishing the roaring waters could wash away all her frustrations. Then the sight before her began to shimmer and change, and it seemed to her that instead of the waterfall, she beheld a gleaming white tree, blossoming in a courtyard of stone. At the same moment, emotions that were not her own crashed upon her, a burning sense of anger and determination, disappointment and hurt.

She cried out in shock, but the next moment, the vision was gone, and she looked once more upon the waterfall. She breathed deeply for a few moments, disturbed by the experience. None of her family were known to be possessed of foresight. Was that what that had been? Or just one of her idle fancies?

It had appeared as the White Tree of Gondor, a realm she had never seen, though had heard much of from her father. Was it that thought of her own denied wishes that had prompted a glimpse of her father's triumphs against evil before she was even born?

She thought deeply, the sensation new and unfamiliar to her. Her father had become part of the Fellowship despite being his father's only heir, not even sending word to the Elvenking to ask for leave. He had decided to risk everything to defend his home. Surely that was what was right and proper for a royal to do? A strange new feeling was growing stronger within her. An urge for action, for adventure, to no longer be the princess of diplomacy. She needed to protect her home, both of them, and she couldn't do that safe in the palace.

Mind made up, she turned from the waterfall and lightly ran back inside. She would go with her father, though in disguise, as Lútuthien had done before her. Young and naive they thought her. She would show them. She sang lightly under her breath as she ran. What an exciting day it had turned out to be.

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 **A/N : Neniel, the Water Elves of Rhûn and their king Nenwë are entirely my own creation, not Tolkien's. **

**Sindarin Elvish**

 **Ioniell nîn- My granddaughter (couldn't find an actual word for granddaughter so made one up. It literally says son-daughter)**

 **Mae athollen** **.** **Glass nín le achened- Welcome back.** **I am pleased you are home**.

 **Hîr nîn- My lord**

 **Name Translations (OCs)**

 **Neniel- Daughter of Water (Sindarin)**

 **Galadhwen- Daughter of the Trees (Sindarin)**

 **Sídhiel-Child of Peace** **(Sindarin)**

 **Faervel- Strong Spirit** **(Sindarin)**

 **Nenwë- Man of Water (Quenya)**


	4. Chapter 3- A Strange Enemy

A Strange Enemy

Eldarion gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, heart thumping as he made ready to close the distance between himself and the band of Orcs that were racing towards his company across the plains. Three days of pursuit had come to this final moment and he knew that now was the time to prove himself.

When they had first come upon the burned-out village in the Eastfold it had appeared impossible to track the Orc-pack that had carried out the attack. While Elboron and the others of their company had investigated the ruins and paid their respects at the grave of the Rohan rider which had been dug hastily by the Scout, Eldarion had employed all of the skills in tracking taught to him by his father to try and trace their quarry. Their tracks he had found easily enough. Large and heavily-shod, these Orcs were no mere raiding party but a well-equipped fighting force. However, outside of the confines of the village, the tracks had vanished, as though the Orcs had simply sprouted wings. He had never seen anything like it and it disturbed him. Only the sight of smoke on the far distant horizon had given them any clues to their whereabouts. Four empty burned villages later and they had now finally come face to face with their enemy in the darkness of early morning. And what an enemy.

Eldarion had never seen Orcs before in person, though he had listened intently to all his father's tales of the role they had played in Middle-Earth at the end of the Third Age. He had thought he knew all that there was to know, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The company was large, at least five score Orcs bore down on them now, more than twice their own number. They were large, taller than he had ever heard of Orcs before, strong and fierce, their eyes bright and their fangs sharp. Their bodies seemed to glow under the moon with a fell light. Their appearance was terrifying, yet this was not what so unnerved him. A sickening feeling had arisen in his gut, a profound sensation of _wrongness_ , something repulsive and abhorrent was at work. He had never heard tell of this effect of Orcs before now.

Bergil, Captain of the Citadel Guard was beside him along with all his company and had alighted from their steeds with swords drawn. He looked to the young prince. "I do not recommend this, my lord," he said, a hint of an edge to his voice. "We know too little of them. Our numbers are too few."

Eldarion did not disagree. The Scout's report of these Orcs gave him cause for hesitation, but he tried to brush past this. Fierce looking Orcs they may be, but they were Orcs all the same, and Orcs could be fought. He would not go back to his father and report they had abandoned the mission for fear of lesser numbers. The King had fought against such odds before, and so would he. Bergil had been but a child during the Battle at Pelennor; he had little more experience of Orcs than the prince. He had never liked the way the older man watched over his training, nor the way he and his family had so evidently favoured Elboron, the son of their precious Steward, who also stood near him. This was _his_ chance to prove himself.

Bergil sighed, seeing his prince's decision in his eyes. "Do not hold back, my lord," he said. "They will give us no quarter."

Eldarion nodded, and with a deep steadying breath, he leapt forward. "For the King!"

"For the King!" his men echoed, and together as one they fell upon their enemy, their war cries mingling with the roars and bellows of the Orcs to create such a cacophony of war that his ears began to ring.

Eldarion raised his sword and brought it down upon the Orc before him, but the Orc was quick, and blocked his blow with a strength that surprised him. He dodged its responding attack and launched into a veritable onslaught, the product of many long hours careful practice with the men of the barracks. But practice with allies and straw dummies was nothing compared to the real thing. Every ounce of strength he had was sent forth into his sword arm, his body tense with anticipation as he darted around his foe seeking a weak spot, an entryway. When he finally spied one, he seized his opportunity. His blade sank deep into his opponent, passing through its chest in what should be a fatal wound, but instead passed through him so easily it might have been a knife through butter. Instead of the black blood he had heard tell of, the Orc seemed to bleed a smoky substance that wreathed around its body and spiralled into the air. Eldarion paused in pure shock, remembering the words of the rider of Rohan which the Scout had related. They had been no deluded ramblings.

The Orc seemed to grin, its black eyes sparkling in the moonlight. It leered at him, enjoying his surprise. It seemed to feel no hurt from its wound. A gurgling laughter started deep in its throat. Eldarion felt a flicker of true fear. _What was this creature?_

He recovered himself quickly, pushing aside all doubt and focusing on his task. Taking advantage of the creature's amusement, he swung up his sword and sliced it across the Orc's throat. Its severed head fell at his feet the next moment, and shadow spilled from its body which then shrivelled up before him. He blinked as the creature vanished before his eyes. He looked up and cast around him, surveying the battle. His men were finding similar trouble to himself, and many had looks of abject terror on their faces, even the men of much experience who had encountered Orcs before. Their blows did not daunt their enemy, and shadowy smoke was filling the air, but no Orcs were falling. Death blows were causing no harm.

"The heads!" he yelled, making some soldiers glace in his direction. "Take off the heads!"

His men changed tactic, and Eldarion turned his attention back to his own part of the battle. Orc after Orc came at him, skin glowing with an unnatural white which he was now certain did not come from the moon, for it had now vanished in the early morning sky. The stench of death and decay was all around him as he fought harder than he ever had in his life. Nothing but a decapitation could fell his enemy, and their impossibly fast reflexes made such a task exceptionally difficult. His body was growing weary, yet still his enemy came, strong as ever.

"My lord!" Eldarion turned to see Bergil clutching a wound to the shoulder, frantically gesturing to the far side of the battle. "He needs help!"

Eldarion followed his gaze to see Elboron surrounded by about twenty Orcs, fighting bravely but on the verge of being overcome. His heart caught in his chest. _No …_

A new surge of energy flowed through him as he launched himself through the rabble in his bid to lend aid to his friend. Elboron was weary, yet still fought on, decapitating the Orcs before him. But the other Orcs made no move to kill Elboron, they did not raise their weapons but closed in on him on all sides. Eldarion's eyes widened. _They were trying to take him prisoner._ He had no time to wonder why before he had arrived at Elboron's side, his sword swinging furiously before him, bringing down two Orcs immediately.

If he had hoped his appearance might make them draw back, he was to be disappointed for his arrival, if anything, had the opposite effect. They hollered in pleasure, laughing as they fought off his attacks, stepping ever closer with fearless drive. They began to close ranks on him too, and Eldarion saw for the first time the foolishness of his heedless action. They had lured him into their trap, and now sought to take both young men captive.

Elboron had realised this too, and they fought back to back, holding off their enemies as best they could, but knowing they stood no chance. _Valar help us,_ Eldarion thought as the circle of Orcs around them continued to advance. Perhaps his father had been right after all. The son of the great Elessar would be overcome by his own recklessness.

A rousing cry met his ears, and Eldarion saw through the ring of foes that Bergil had rallied some of the company to their assistance, but still they were too few. The Orcs had the advantage.

Eldarion felt a warmth on the back of his neck and an orange light blazed across the sky. His spirits were lifted by the sight of the sun, her rays welcome in the darkness of the fight. His heart was boldened by the sight, but it soon proved to be the least of its benefits. As the light from the sun fell upon the Orcs, they seemed to pass away like a wisp of smoke, vanishing utterly, leaving only dark marks on the earth from where the few they had brought down had fallen. Eldarion and the others jumped in shock, heads twisting around to see where they had gone, not trusting the sight of their own eyes. Eldarion felt an icy chill down his spine. How could they have disappeared like that? He could not believe it.

He looked to Bergil, who shared his expression of wonder. "Have you ever heard of anything like this, Bergil?"

The Captain of the Citadel Guard shook his head, his face paler than it was accustomed to being. "Orcs have long hated the rays of the sun, but never have I seen or heard of them vanishing before it like phantoms into the night," he said. He examined the dark marks of the earth, expression troubled. "These were no mortal creatures, my lord. Something evil is at work here."

Eldarion looked to Elboron, one of the most learned people he knew, desperate for something to tell him more of what had happened. "Any explanations?" he asked. "Anything in your old scrolls that would explain this?"

Elboron shook his head, as astonished as the rest of them. "The Scout's report was more accurate than I could have believed. They seemed made of shadow itself, yet glowed with some foul inner light. These were no goblins from the Misty Mountains."

"Uruk-hai?" Eldarion asked, pleading with his friend to lend some sort of firm grounding in reality to the conversation.

Unfortunately, Elboron shook his head. "No Orc has been seen like that in any record kept in Gondor," he said gravely.

Eldarion's heart sank. He turned full circle, surveying his men, seeing that many had fallen, too many, and those that remained seemed frightened as children. He steadied himself. This was _his_ mission, and he had failed miserably. He should not have been so eager to engage the Orcs, he should have paid more attention to the Scout's warning and Bergil's counsel. He could not continue like this.

"Get the wounded onto horses," he said to Bergil. "We ride back to Minas Tirith. My father must be told of this."

Neniel had never seen her father angry. He had never once raised his voice to her, preferring to sing of deeds long past and recite the names of all the stars of heaven to her in the comfort of the palace. Yet now his face was white with fury. He had seen her across the battlefield. They were divided from each other, and in part she was grateful, for she grieved to see him so disappointed in her.

It had been remarkably easy to slip after her father's raiding party, donning the dark green and brown garb of the woodland warriors and slinging her bow across her back, avoiding the eyes of those around her as she skulked at the rear, far from her father's position at the head of the procession. They had come across a party of Orcs not long afterwards, just after dawn, lurking in the shadows of the trees, dangerously close to the palace, and from then on she cared little if she was seen. This was her chance.

Her bow sang as she loosed arrow after arrow at the enemy, but something was dreadfully wrong. These Orcs were unlike any she had heard of. No amount of arrows to the chest could stop them, no wound would slow them down. Black smoke came from their wounds instead of blood, and the only way to kill them was to cut off their heads.

Here the Woodland Elves were at a disadvantage, for most were archers, and few bore swords, or indeed any blade much longer than a knife. Their armour was thick, and getting close enough to decapitate them proved difficult.

Neniel's heart despaired as she saw the Elves around her being cut down, people she had known her whole life, who bowed to her, and laughed with her in the beauty of her grandfather's halls. There was blood all around, and a taste of death upon the air. Panic was rising within her. She was hopelessly out of her depth. _Why had she come?_

Orcs should not glow with a ghostly light, they should not be as tall as Elves, nor as quick and strong, yet these were. How was this possible?

Her white hunting knife slashed through the air, but made little purchase. Training with her father had not prepared her for this, her first battle. Why had no one told her of the blood, the screams, the horror? None of the songs spoke of that.

She was surrounded by Orcs. They were closing in on her, reaching out with strong hands to grab onto her. No matter how many she sliced off, they kept on coming. She heard her father screaming her name and she looked up. He was running towards her, blood trickling down one side of his face, terror in his eyes. She had never seen her father afraid before.

She seemed to be in a world removed from the battle. Nothing appeared real anymore. Not the screams around her, not the smell of death. And not the Orc arrow that had embedded itself in her father's chest. She froze, watching as he fell, unable to believe it. It was impossible. Her father was the greatest Elven warrior since Beleg Cúthalion. This could not be happening.

A white fury ignited itself then, and the world before her seemed tinged in red. She screamed her grief, her pain, her fear, her anger and flew towards her father, cutting down Orcs as she went. She did not notice the Elves around her falling to these strange new Orcs. She did not notice how they targeted her specifically, trying to grab her rather than kill her. She did not notice the Elves that closed in around her to protect her, bound by love and respect for this fearless young maiden. All she thought about was reaching her father. To see if he was alive or dead. But she could not draw near.

The largest of the Orcs bellowed orders to his followers, and their onslaught increased. The Elves bowed under the pressure, their blades wrenched from their hands, their shields shattered. Large, strong arms that glowed unnaturally and were as cold as ice closed around her, and she was pulled into crushing darkness. She could not see, hear, or even breathe. She might have been under the earth itself with all the weight of the world on top of her.

The sensation ceased and she was able to draw breath again. She opened the eyes she had squeezed shut and with wonder saw that she was no longer under the trees of Mirkwood, but in a shadowy cave, a view of white mountains before her under a weak sun. She cried aloud in shock, and turned around, seeing a good number of her father's company were with her, all deprived of their weapons and all staring around them in disbelief.

From the darkest of the shadows, the lead Orc came towards her, leering at her with eyes that were as black as night. Like a corpse he appeared, with flesh that stank of decay. Shadows were pouring from a wound on his arm, but it seemed not to bother him. Fear leapt into her heart, but she pushed it aside. She was a princess of Mirkwood, Lady of Rhûn. She would feel no fear. The Orc stood above her, seeking to intimidate her. She thrust her chin in the air, and smiled, daring to do what she had never thought she'd have the courage to do, especially now when all she could think of was her father. She laughed as loudly as she could.

"You do not frighten me."

The Orc was not unnerved by her demonstration. Instead, he laughed as well. Quicker than she could react, his fist swung up and caught her across the face.

"My lady!" cried the Elf behind her, catching her as she reeled from the force of the blow. She blinked away the pain and stared back at the Orc.

"You should be, She-Elf," the Orc snarled back at her. "Where we're going, there shall be no laughter for you."

She gasped aloud, and heard similar gasps behind her. The Orc had not spoken in the harsh tongues of his race, nor a corrupted form of Westron, but in perfect Sindarin of a dialect so old Neniel herself could barely comprehend it. No Orc could speak the words of Elven tongues. No Orc would wish to.

The Orc laughed again. He withdrew a long, thin dart from a pouch at his hip, and his lips curled over his fangs. "This should keep you quiet for a while, She-Elf. We have a journey ahead of us."

Before she could move out of the way, he had plunged the dart into her abdomen, making her scream aloud in agony as fire tore its way through her body. She felt some foul darkness spreading its way into her blood, into her bones.

 _Poison,_ she thought, her mind growing murky and her vision hazy. The world before her went black.

Eldarion was riding as fast as he could on his horse, making all haste back to Minas Tirith. He could afford to waste no time; the sun had now fully risen and for all he knew the Orcs would return at nightfall, bringing down more destruction on the land. Elboron rode on one side and Bergil on the other. Their faces were as grim as he believed his own was.

He stared straight ahead, seeing the wilds of Anórien stretching before him. He was tired from the fight, and knew his men were too. If only they could go faster …

A new feeling came over him then, unconnected to his weariness. A sudden wave of grief and terror. The sound of clear, ringing laughter that was fair and bright. Then pain. Unbearable, gut-wrenching pain.

He cried out loud and bent over double, eyes watering as a fiery agony swept through his abdomen. His vision began to darken and he felt himself fall from the saddle and collide with the ground, new pain shooting through his back and shoulder. He could barely move, he could barely think.

He was vaguely aware of Elboron and Bergil calling his name before he fell into darkness.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 4- Kingsfoil

**A/N:** **Here's the next chapter. As ever, feedback would be greatly appreciated! :)**

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Kingsfoil

Elboron had leapt from his horse as soon as he approached the seventh level of the city, knowing that even in an emergency such as this protocols must be observed and he would be severely reprimanded for trying to ride into the Citadel itself where horses were not permitted. Though he thought the King might make an exception when he heard his news.

He charged through the gates, barely acknowledging the guard who stood by to let him pass unchallenged when they saw his haste, trusting him and his judgement. Tearing across the courtyard he burst into the Citadel itself to find the King within, speaking with a number of his counsellors. He looked up at his abrupt entrance, a frown on his brow at the interruption which then faded as he beheld Elboron's appearance, red in the face from running, not yet divested of his sword and mail.

"Elboron? What has happened?" he cried. His face went pale as he saw Elboron's expression and his entire body tensed. "My son … he …"

"He's been taken to the Houses of Healing, my lord," Elboron gasped, a painful stitch in his side. "You must come at once."

King Elessar went even paler, his eyes flashed with sudden emotion. Within a moment he had dropped the scrolls he had been carrying and with no further glance to his counsellors had leapt into action, hastening through the door Elboron had just entered. The young captain followed him, amazed at the speed the king was now making, despite being more than five times his own age. A memory came back to him then of the stories of the Dark Years. _Wingfoot_. That had been what his uncle had named him when encountering him on the plains of the Riddermark after running three days and nights from Amon Hen in pursuit of the Halflings. He was certainly not yet out of practice.

Trailing behind his king, Elboron entered the Houses of Healing to see that Elessar was now speaking with Bergil, whose face was grave and sorrowful as he related what had happened in the skirmish.

"We will speak of this later," Elessar interrupted, eyes flicking over Bergil's shoulder. "Take me to my son."

Bergil nodded and led the way, taking no offence at the king's abrupt manner. Elboron went with them to one of the rooms of the sick, where several healers had already congregated, speaking in worried, fretful voices. Eldarion lay in the centre on a low set bed. His armour had been removed but otherwise he looked exactly as Elboron had left him: pale as death, eyes closed, skin clammy to the touch, insensible to all around him. If it were not for the slow rise and fall of his chest he would appear to be dead. Elboron felt his breath catch in his throat as fear threatened to overwhelm him. Fear for his friend, fear that he could not explain what had happened. Fear for himself as he remembered that he too had not been immune ...

Elessar ungraciously pushed past the healers and crouched down beside his son, reaching for his hand and enclosing it within both of his. His grey eyes moved over the length of his son's body, searching for injury and other signs as to what ailed him. He placed one hand on his son's brow and murmured something to himself. His face creased in worry. He turned back to Bergil.

"Where is his wound?"

"There is none, my lord," Bergil said, shaking his head.

"Then what is the cause of this?"

Bergil wrung his hands and spoke in an anxious tone. "I know not, lord. The battle was behind us, and Lord Eldarion had escaped unscathed. Yet as we rode he suddenly cried out in pain and fell from his horse. The fall bruised him somewhat, but it was not serious. He had fallen into this malady beforehand. He has lain as still as death ever since. Nothing can rouse him." Bergil paused and glanced to Elboron. "It reminds me somewhat of what befell Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn and the Halfling after Pelennor. The same evil influence."

A stillness fell on the room and faces darkened. Elboron jerked his head back to Eldarion, a coldness around his heart. Could this be a result of the Black Breath? Surely such a thing could not be possible. A shudder ran through him as he looked on his friend's wan face and imagined his mother and father lying thus in this very building long ago. They had barely managed to cling to life. A trembling came upon him looking down upon the prince. Whatever had happened to him, he had felt it too. Was this his fate?

Elessar too glanced to Elboron, and to his immense relief, he shook his head. "It cannot be. Similar, yet unlike, for they were more deathlike still. This is something different, though what I cannot say."

He turned back to examine the patient, running his hands along his flesh, peering into his eyes, gently opening his mouth. Elboron watched impatiently; everyone in Gondor knew of the king's legendary healing skills, he owed his own existence to them after all. Why was he not doing something more?

"Do you remember the remedy I prescribed back then, Bergil?" he asked, completing his survey. "You were only a lad of ten, but as trusty as you are now. Run now and find the herb as you did then. Perhaps it shall help in this case as well."

Bergil nodded. "Athelas. I'll fetch some now, lord."

The wait until he returned seemed interminable, but Elessar made up for it with his own practiced speed as he breathed upon and then crushed the athelas leaves, releasing its wholesome aroma into the air. Elboron felt his own spirit be soothed as he breathed it in. Throwing the leaves into boiling water increased the effect and vapours soon filled the small room, refreshing and revitalising. A freshness upon the air seemed to tingle and resonate in the hearts of all who stood there. Elboron felt his own weariness and hurt fade away.

Elessar took the hand of his son once more, stroking it and murmuring softly to him. "Eldarion, my son, awaken! Let no shadow lie upon you. Awaken now, for I have called you."

For a seeming eternity, nothing changed, and despite the herb's influence, Elboron felt his heart clench painfully. But Elessar did not lose faith, and continued calling to his son, one hand in his and the other on his brow, his face changing as it appeared a great struggle was occurring, his expression growing grey with weariness.

As shadow began to fall outside the high windows, Eldarion began to move. Slowly, his eyes opened and he blinked, his gaze unfocused and confused. He turned his head and saw his father leaning over him.

" _Adar?_ "

Elessar smiled, and a light came into his face. "Hush, and rest now, _ioneg._ You are safely at home."

"But how? I don't understand, what happened?"

Elessar turned to the other two men, expression grave once more. "If he sustained no wound, how came he to fall under this influence?" he asked. "Why only he? What befell him in that battle?"

"Nothing that I saw, lord," Bergil said. "Although," he cast a glance towards Elboron. "Our two leaders were most heavily in amongst the fray. Both became separated from us, surrounded by enemies. It seemed to me that they specifically were being herded away from the rest of us as if to try and capture them."

"Orcs seldom take prisoners," Elessar said, "and those that are taken do not live long. Why they would seek such high profile prisoners is unknown to me. They do not ask for ransoms, nor do they make use of slaves, not since the fall of the Great Darkness. Torment is their goal only, and any man there would have been suitable for that." He paused a moment. "The Scout was correct in saying these Orcs are of a different mould than we know."

"Indeed, my lord. They resembled nothing of the Orcs I knew in my youth," Bergil said, shuddering at the memory.

"My lord," Elboron burst out, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Prince Eldarion was not the only one affected by this. When he fell, I too felt something. A fiery pain in my side that caused me to lose my senses for the briefest of moments. I sensed a great shadow before me and thought I would fall to it. Then I became aware of Eldarion, and it passed."

Eldarion, still blinking groggily, was now staring at him, an expression of shock upon his face. His father immediately stood from his position by his side and swiftly crossed the room to stand before Elboron, laying his hands on his shoulders and searching his face with steely grey eyes. He placed a hand on his brow and then sighed, cupping his face with his hand.

"You are weary, Elboron," he said, his face creased in concern. "You must have ridden in great haste with much heavy sorrow to bring this news and my son back to me. I am grateful. You too are in need of rest and renewal." His smile seemed somewhat forced. "I can only guess that your close proximity to the Orcs was what afflicted you both. I trust now that away from their influence you might both recover. Stay with Eldarion now while I inform the Queen of what has happened. Then you must go and rest in a room of your own in this House. I would have you both be restored fully ere you leave."

Eldarion grimaced. "Must _naneth_ be told of this?"

Elessar smiled. "I promise to try and alleviate the most of her worry lest she fall upon you as strongly as a Dwarven hammer falls on an anvil.

When the king and Captain of the Citadel Guard had left the room, Elboron immediately moved to sit by his friend's bed.

"I am pleased you are awake, you gave me quite the scare."

Eldarion smiled feebly. "Why Elboron, I did not know you cared so."

"I am your future Steward, it is my duty to care."

"Oh, is that what it is? Duty? I would have thought the opposite. If I die, you'll probably start a new line of Ruling Stewards."

They both laughed, but both knew they were trying to drown out the dark fear that had awoken within them. Elboron addressed it now.

"What do you remember?" he asked him. "That pain …"

Eldarion's eyes went out of focus for a moment. "It was agony. All through my body, my very soul. I felt grief, and terror and hatred all at once. I thought I heard a laugh, a woman's laugh, and then nothing but pain."

"In your abdomen," Elboron asked, gesturing to where his own pain had come from. His friend nodded.

"You felt it too?"

"Yes, though I cannot explain it. Why should we feel pain from wounds neither of us received? And so long after the battle?" He leaned in closer. "I too felt those emotions, Eldarion, emotions that were not my own. I heard no laugh, but I thought I saw something. A face of an Orc, not one of the ones we had fought, almost lost in the shadows of a cave. I do not think this was a result of simply being in close quarters to those enemies."

"Neither do I," Eldarion agreed, sitting up a little straighter. He bit his lip, troubled, and hesitated before speaking again. "It is not the first time this has happened. Before we set out, I thought I saw a vision of a waterfall, one I had never seen before, and again experienced feelings that I knew to be someone else's. I simply chose to dismiss it as a phantom of the mind. But now …"

Elboron breathed out. "What is happening?" he asked, wonder in his voice. "Why did you see such a thing? Why were you more affected than I was?"

"I do not know, but something somewhere is deeply wrong," Eldarion said, his breath quickening. "Something dark is afoot here."

"We should inform your father-"

"No!" Eldarion said, shaking his head rapidly. He sighed at Elboron's shocked expression. "At least, not yet. We should wait until we know more."

"Eldarion-"

"Please," his friend pleaded, reaching for his arm. "For now. I need to figure this out. I do not want my father to think even less of my abilities than he does at present. Hearing that his son is seeing things would not bode well for me."

"I too am part of this," Elboron said, "you would not be considered crazy. The gift of foresight is in your family, remember? And your father's opinion of you could not be higher. It certainly would not be changed, not least by something like this."

Eldarion looked away from him then, and Elboron knew he would not be swayed. His heart, buoyed by the prince's recovery now sank once again. Throughout Elboron's youth, fostered as he was in this great city, he and Eldarion had been ever inseparable. A friendship stronger than the stone of the city itself. Yet occasionally there were prices to be paid for that unbreakable bond of loyalty between them. It seemed Elboron had paid most of them, bound by silence in matters ranging from the particulars of the mischief they had gotten themselves into, the secret ventures in the dead of night into the palace kitchens and pranks on the servants, to Eldarion's illicit visits by moonlight to the maidens of the court. Now it seemed that bond of loyalty was being claimed once again, and he would have to keep another of his future king's secrets.

He only hoped it would not prove ill for either of them.

When Queen Arwen Undómiel came flying into the room a short while later, Elboron took his leave, watching fondly as mother and son shared a tender moment. Outside of the prince's room he leaned heavily against the wall, a deep misgiving in his heart. Was he right to keep this secret? Had his prince been right to ask it of him? He had never easily been able to say no to him.

He looked up as he heard his name being called softly. Bergil stood before him, looking him up and down.

"I am sorry I did not notice your own hurts, my lord. But you have such a quiet nature about you. You should have spoken."

"It matters not," Elboron said, trying to smile. "The prince was more grievously afflicted; you were right to look to him first."

"Right perhaps, though it has to be admitted, a great part of me would rather have tended to you, though perhaps that is a mere partiality of my family towards yours," he said. He glanced around before speaking again. "It is because of that I now speak. I offer you some friendly advice, for the sake of the particular loyalty my father has for yours. You are well versed in lore and in strategy and for that you fill your position well. But the prince, though your superior in both age and rank, is not so. Brave though he is, he is not yet a skilled warrior and I fear for him. He is too quick to make decisions and does not listen well to advice, none save yours at least. That fight could have cost us dearly had our enemy not vanished the way it did. He needs your guidance more than ever, Elboron. You temper his recklessness, direct his thoughts and remain steadfast in your loyalty. The arrogance of youth could be his downfall. If you could bring yourself to speak more in matters of counsel with him, he may listen and become as wise as his father."

Elboron stared at him for a moment, astonished by his speech. Coming from anyone else, words like this could be considered treason. But Elboron knew him well. His father Beregond was Captain of the White Company, his father's own personal guard in Ithilien, the man who had saved him from the madness of Denethor. He had great love for the family of the Steward, and for Gondor and its king. His words were come from concern, and not from hostility. Yet there was a sting there too. _You have such a quiet nature about you … could bring yourself to speak more …_ he was not the first to notice it. Too quiet he had always been, never able to say a word against anyone.

He glanced at the door to Eldarion's room. Again, he prayed his decision to keep their secret would not go amiss. He had never dealt well with confrontation.

* * *

Pain was in every part of her. Fiery, unbearable pain in her skin, her bones, her flesh. She drifted in shadow, a black endless dream from which she was unable to lift herself. The world around her was black. Her very soul seemed dark with the foul poison which now infected it. How long had she been like this? It could have been a day. It could have been a century. She would not know the difference.

Swirling shadows were on every side of her, pushing against her like water against the prow of a boat. They whispered to her, cruel things, echoes of hate and foulness. They spoke of her father and her home. Both were gone from her now, never to return. Her father was fallen. All was lost.

From the blackness, a vision appeared to her, separate from the rest, light pushing its way through to reach her. She was in blackness, but also she rode on the back of a horse across wide plains in a country she did not know. Her head looked down where she saw another rider, a slumped figure set before the rider, limp and pale. Unconscious, being borne away for treatment somewhere she supposed. He looked young, a warrior in shining armour. Dark hair streamed behind him revealing a noble face, now slack in his sleep. She could almost feel his presence here with her now. A bright light in the darkness, full of youth and vitality, strong and hopeful.

The vision faded, and once more she was left alone to the pain. She floundered in the dark mists of her mind, seeking for some handhold with which she could drag herself back into wakefulness.

But no relief came. Nothing changed. Except that … a smell came to her, refreshing and wondrous.

 _Athelas …_

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for everyone who is reading this story. I've been watching the number of reads slowly increasing which makes me incredibly happy! If you enjoyed please leave a review/follow/fave to let me know how I'm doing :)**

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Adar- Father**

 **Naneth- Mother**

 **Ioneg- My son (term of endearment)**


	6. Chapter 5- Ill News

**A/N: Thanks to everyone reading this story! Any and all feedback is appreciated :)**

* * *

Ill News

 _The mountain before him was pale in the early dawn, tall and white-capped it brushed the very heavens. Light slowly filled the sky and turned the peak into a fiery beacon against the starkness of the sky behind it. A town lay at its foot, large and prosperous, though the streets were empty in that early hour. He was watching the sight before him through a window of glass, looking down over the town from a high place. Fear ran through him as he saw smoke rising from the distant fields. He could almost see the black figures of the orcs before the flames. As the sun rose fully however, they seemed to disappear entirely._

 _He was enveloped by a warm sense of relief; they had not reached the city that night. But then there was always the next night. He stared back at the mountain again, praying for salvation to come. They were so exposed out here beneath the base of this solitary peak along the horizon. A new terror gripped his heart. He knew they would return._

Elboron woke to find he was once again drenched in sweat and his blankets in a tangle around him. He took a deep shuddering breath and sat up, swinging his legs out of his camp bed and clutching its sides, knuckles white. The terror was still with him. But _whose_ terror was it?

Every night for nigh on three weeks he had been plagued by dreams of a town he did not know, feeling things he did not understand, sometimes even while waking. Always he seemed to look down on the town from above, mostly just watching people scurrying around after dark up to some sort of nefarious or otherwise unsavoury business, but more recently also watching the slow advance of burning fires along the horizon. Someone was afraid, deeply afraid.

While still breathing deeply to recover from the intensity of the emotions of the dream, he was aware of the flap of his tent being drawn open. His father stood there, apparently awaiting invitation to enter. He however did not wait for one. He ducked inside the entrance and came to him immediately, concern in his face.

"Elboron?" he asked, sitting beside him on the bed. "Are you well? You seem pale."

"Nightmare," he said shortly, trying to smile. "It shall pass."

His father did not look convinced, and peered closely at him. Elboron prayed he would not notice the shadows under his eyes, the weariness, the stress. But his father was a shrewd man and missed little.

"I am concerned for you, my son," he said softly. "You have not been yourself. Reserved you have always been around others, but not with me. Tell me what troubles you."

Elboron tried not to flinch, pained at his father's expression. He knew he could not say. He and Eldarion had sworn to keep this to themselves until they knew more of what was happening. Reluctant though he had been at first, Elboron was now more compliant. To tell his father that he thought he may be losing his mind would almost be worse than experiencing it. What could be done for them? Until they knew that, there was no need to worry their families. Though, as it appeared, they were doing that anyway.

His father frowned at his silence, his face almost more than Elboron could bear. He had never kept something like this from his father before. He had never been able to, for his father could draw out secrets from the hearts of men they may not even know they had. He need only look at a man in order to learn his mind.

"Has anything happened?" he asked him. "Anything like to that day you and Eldarion first fought against these new Orcs?" Elboron willed himself not to react, but his father saw his jaw clench and pressed on. "Aragorn warned me to watch over you in case it occurred again. Has it?"

Elboron forced himself to meet his father's eyes, schooling his expression into one of calmness. "No, father," he said as brightly as he could. "I am well."

His father did not believe him, but Elboron did not wait to be interrogated further. He stood and quickly dressed himself for the day, ignoring his father's knowing gaze. He strapped on his sword and made to leave the tent. As he walked, he hissed in pain as he placed weight on his left ankle, and had to make do with a hobble.

"Did you sprain your ankle yesterday?" his father asked, rising to lend an arm. Elboron brushed it away.

"No, I … I must have slept on it."

"Elboron-"

"Come, it's getting late."

He limped out of the tent and found himself in the brightness of the early morning. The camp was already being struck, eighty of his father's best warriors making all haste to be off on their journey to Minas Tirth. They were now only a few short hours away. He watched their faces as they passed, noting how haggard they now appeared. Three weeks had passed since that first encounter, and the attacks had not ceased. Gondor and Rohan both were subject to assault by this strange new enemy that seemed to appear with the first shadows of night, cause unparalleled death and destruction and then fade away with the sun. the attacks were ceaseless and unpredictable, the same pack appearing often hundreds of miles apart within the space of a day. They did not move like mortal creatures. Terror followed their every move. There seemed to be no way to fight against them.

Elboron had been given leave by King Elessar to return to Ithilien to help deal with the threats on his father's land and was only now returning with a host of his father to the great council Elessar had called. All allies of Gondor within a few days travel were to be there. Elboron was not sure what they would achieve. They had come no closer to learning more of whence these Orcs came, or what was their purpose.

As the camp began to clear he saw his mother, dressed in riding garb supervising with a cold expression on her face. She had surprised him in recent weeks. All through his youth he had heard of her deeds in the wars, her courage and fortitude. The White Lady of Ithilien was famous for her valour. Yet this had never fit with his image of her; a healer, gentle and warm, happy and smiling. Now for the first time he saw her, the shieldmaiden of Rohan, daughter of the House of Eorl, slayer of the Witch-King. War had brought out that side of her which she had sworn was behind her. The sight grieved him, as he knew it did his father too. Neither of them had ever wished to be warriors again.

He made ready for his departure, ignoring the stabbing pains in his ankle as he packed his things. When the company was ready he swung himself into his saddle with difficulty. As he did so he saw his father approach his mother and whisper something gently to her. Her face grew even graver and he was sure he saw her eyes flicker towards him. He looked away pointedly.

The ride to Minas Tirith was uneventful, and soon they beheld the great gates of the city. Wrought of silver and mithril by the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves, they replaced the ones destroyed by Sauron's army in the war, stronger and fairer, made yet more so for they were a gift for Elessar from Gimli, Gloin's son who now led those people. The Dwarves too had encountered this new evil in their still newly-established settlements at Helm's Deep, but were not as troubled by it as their Man neighbours. Intriguing, some called it. Suspicious, others said.

The Company swept into the city, and before long, he, his father, mother, and their chief advisors including Beregond, father of Bergil had arrived at the Citadel. The place was filled with many visitors, lords of Gondor and Rohan alike. All shared grave expressions.

"Elboron!"

He turned to see Eldarion approaching, and he was glad at the reunion after so long away, but froze as he saw that the prince was limping. Eldarion too had noticed Elboron's own limp and his eyes widened.

"I sprained it last night during an encounter by Osgiliath," he said by way of explanation. He stared at Elboron, all friendliness gone from his face. "How long have-"

"This morning," he answered, his stomach twisting, "though I had no obvious injury."

They shared a look of uneasiness, both men not willing to believe it.

"Strange that!" one of his father's advisors observed. "I've heard of this before. Men who fight closely together often get phantoms pains when the other is injured. Even when they are far away from each other! Incredible."

"Yes, incredible," his father said watching the two of them closely, obviously sceptical.

Elboron hooked his arm around Eldarion's elbow and pulled him away where they could not be overheard. "This is no coincidence."

"I agree," Eldarion said, "this seems to be linked to our previous … incident."

"There's more," Elboron said, gut twisting, "I've been dreaming again."

"Of the mountain?"

"Yes, almost every night. I do not recognise that place, yet I _know_ it. I have been there in thought if not in body. I'm seeing it through another's eyes."

Eldarion looked troubled. "And I have dreamed too," he said heavily. "Not of a mountain, but a dark room, a prison I believe. The vision is faint however and broken, as though the person in that prison were drifting in and out of consciousness."

Elboron's heart sank even further. These visions and feelings were not getting any better as they had hoped, neither were they becoming any clearer. Their decision to keep this to themselves seemed ever more foolish.

His father had not taken his eyes from the two young men. He looked between them, frowning as though trying to work out a difficult calculation. He knew something was wrong. But how on earth could they ever explain something like this?

* * *

The Council was larger than anything Eldarion had ever witnessed in his father's halls. Allies from across Middle-Earth had come to discuss the growing problem of the orc attackers, and many had brought large retinues with them. The glowing white marble floors were almost entirely obscured by the mass of people that were there before they gradually began to take their seats in a large oval in the centre of the room. At the top end of the room his father and mother sat, just beneath their thrones on the dais, not wanting to display any superiority over their allies, he sat in his father's left, next to Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. Lady Éowyn and Elboron were on his other side. All the Lords of Gondor had come, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, as well as the lords of Lossarnach and of Anórien and many others besides. King Éomer and his wife Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil sat near their kin along with many of the prominence of Rohan, the Lords of the Westfold and the Eastfold among them. Dunlending men were also there, a result of their people's recent truces with their neighbours, though tensions were still high as memories faded.

Beside his mother sat his uncles, Elladan and Elrohir, both so alike with their raven hair and shining eyes even he had trouble telling them apart. They were the last of their kin to remain in Middle-Earth, and would soon pass over the sea to Valinor to join his grandparents. They lingered only to be near their sister and her husband, their foster-brother of old, while their reign was still at its height. Only the elves of the north stayed behind; the Silvan elves and their leaders, those who had long resisted the call of the Valar.

A few of other races were also present; a contingent of Dwarves from the Glittering Caves and also some Periannath from the north, particular close friends of his father who had been on a visit to the south when the violence had erupted. Elanor Gardner, daughter of Samwise Gamgee sat by Queen Arwen in a small chair heaped with cushions in her usual spot as lady-in-waiting. Her golden hair, still rare among Hobbits, gleamed in the light filtering in through high windows. Her father was beside her, Mayor of the Shire and along with the Thain of the Shire and the Master of Buckland, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck respectively who were among the chiefest of his father's counsellors in the north kingdom of Arnor. The three had come to relate tidings from the north and also to visit Sam's daughter, and had been given seats near the king's at his father's particular request. Merry bore the horn given to him by Éomer and wore the mail given to him by the people of Rohan, and likewise, Pippin was liveried as a guard of the Citadel, called upon by the king to resume said post in the light of the crisis. The Hobbits were no unfamiliar sight to the people of Minas Tirith, for they were frequent visitors and held in high esteem. To Eldarion as well they had become well-acquainted and cherished friends to him, as they were to his father, though he usually only saw them on their visits here. Men from Rohan and further afield were less used to this sight, and more than a few cast their eyes often in the direction of the smaller chairs positioned so close to the king.

Eldarion looked around and let out a long breath. Men, Dwarves, Elves and even Hobbits gathered together in one room to face a threat of darkness. Such a thing had not occurred since his grandfather Lord Elrond had held his own council in Imladris with the Ringbearer. He shifted in his uncomfortable seat, meeting Elboron's eyes across the room as he did so. He looked as worried as he felt.

When all had claimed their seats, his father began to speak, immediately commanding a respectful silence with his captivating voice. He spoke of the attacks upon Gondor, listing the villages that had been burnt, the people massacred or displaced, his army's inability to keep up with this roving threat. He talked of the Orcs, how they were of new stock and a threat unlike any other they had encountered. The other lords of Gondor also reported the destruction upon their own lands, the senseless, ceaseless assault on the weak and unprotected. King Éomer spoke then, as did his own lords, detailing much the same events. Only the Dwarves had little to report. Aside from a few casualties in their shared dwellings with the Men of Rohan, they had suffered little, but were nonetheless eager to help. All who spoke had grey faces and wearied voices. The room seemed suddenly full of shadow. Then Prince Faramir spoke of the attacks on Ithilien, his voice heavy and his eyes downcast.

"Alas, this is not all I have to report," he said, crossing a hand over his face. "I regret to have to announce that my guard has discovered the place from which these Orcs seem to be issuing their attacks. Minas Morgul has been retaken."

A horrified murmur of voices greeted this statement, and Eldarion went cold. _Minas Morgul_. The very name was enough to strike terror in the hearts of the bravest of men.

"How has this happened?" one of the lords demanded to know, frowning at Faramir. "Your men were supposed to keep watch over the place, prevent any evil from reclaiming it. That was your charge was it not? I seem to remember you being ordered to demolish the place."

"That is easier said than done," Lady Éowyn said, leaping to her husband's defence and glaring at the man. "The evil in that valley is as strong as it was when it was the lair of the Nazgûl. Unless you have faced them in person, as I have, you can have no concept of what that does to a person." She stopped, eyes lost in painful memory for a moment before she continued. "No one could remain there for long without succumbing to its power. We could not ask our men to long expose themselves to such ill-effects. Deconstruction took place, but only in spaced apart shifts, and progress slow, but even that was enough to require the men to convalesce for longer than the time they spent there. Watch towers were built at the entrance to the valley, but we've recently discovered that they had been overrun, the men slaughtered before a message could be sent."

"But still, more should have been done to-"

The lord was interrupted by a small cough. Sam Gamgee had risen to his feet, which was still not enough to bring him level with the seated lord. His expression however was determined.

"Have you ever been in the Morgul Vale, my lord?" Sam asked him, hands on hips. "Well, I have, and it weren't no picnic neither, if you take my meaning. It seems the very stones themselves are full of foul, rotten death and decay. The air is as unwholesome as you can imagine and there's nowt there but darkness and shadow. Not a plant, nor bird, nor even a crawling insect. Now I don't blame Captain Faramir here for not wanting to put his men through that, and I don't think you should neither. It would be torture, so it would, and it seems to me that it don't matter so much as how the enemy got in as we figure out now what to do about it."

Speech finished, Sam flushed somewhat and sat back down on his chair, avoiding the stares of wonder he was receiving. Faramir shot him a small smile which softened his lined face, and his fellow Hobbits too nodded approvingly.

"Well spoken, Sam," the king said, also smiling at his old friend. "I could not have found the words better myself." The smile faded as he looked around the assembled lords and ladies. "This news is grievous indeed, but a blessing might be seen to come from it. Now we know where the enemy lies we may find a way in which to fight it."

"But are we sure these attacks come from the Morgul Vale," Éomer said. "If so, we should expect the attacks to be focused only around Ithilien, but they are spread out much further than that. Surely had the Orcs been travelling back and forth they would have been spotted? As it is they appear like ghosts in the night and slip away again as quickly."

"These Orcs seem only to live in shadows," Bergil said heavily. He had been out fighting these orcs incessantly with Eldarion. "Sunlight does not pain them as it usually does, but makes them vanish utterly."

"And what's this I hear about a glow?" Pippin asked, head tilted to one side. "And the fact they bleed shadows? Even the Uruk-Hai didn't do anything like that."

"These Orcs are as unlike to the Uruk-Hai as they themselves were to the maggots of the Misty Mountains," Prince Imrahil said. "They are no mindless rabble of destroyers. They are as tall as Elves and as strong too, possessed of far greater intelligence and discernment. The most formidable breed I have ever encountered."

Silence fell upon those gathered there as each tried to comprehend this. Eldarion thought back to the encounters with the Orcs he had had almost every night now for three weeks. The blackness of their eyes, the cold light that shone through their skin, the very stench of decay from their bodies. He shuddered.

"These Orcs put me in mind of tales I heard long ago from my grandfather, Lord Celeborn." His uncle, Elladan, had spoken, eyes lost in thought. "He spoke of his life in Beleriand in the First Age and the Orcs that lived there. The spawn of Morgoth." The room hang on his every word in horrified transfixion. "Orcs, as you know, were once Elves, taken by the enemy and mutilated beyond repair. These Orcs were of the first generations of their kin, and not yet too removed from their origins. They retained their Elven height and strength, and their minds were not yet brought low or their wits dulled and vulgarised. Their wars against the Elves and the Men of the Edain were brutal for their power was almost equal to their foes."

"But these cannot be the same Orcs," his mother said, turning to her brother. "I too remember those tales. Nothing was said of an unnatural glow, of shadows inside their bodies, nor the ability to disappear at will. They were not described to me as being all but living corpses."

"There are no Orcs like to those of the First Age," Elrohir agreed. "Those Orcs were either destroyed or were intermixed with lesser forms until they became the monstrous, hideous creatures of today."

"They would be long dead now, would they not?" Éomer said. "They did not have the same lifespan as the Elves?"

"Not to my knowledge. And where would they have hidden themselves all these years?"

Eldarion thought back to his lessons in history and lore with his father. Tales of the wars of the Elves in the First Age had never been his favourite; the only Elves he knew were his mother and uncles, and he much preferred the more relevant history of Númenor and the Third Age. He struggled to remember some details now.

"We also do not know what motive they have," his father said. "Orcs seldom raid for no purpose, especially in recent years. A force as large as this must have some leader, some reason for assailing the kingdoms of Men."

"A new Sauron," Merry said, and the room shuddered as one.

"There is something I have observed, my lord," Bergil said, glancing at Eldarion. "I spoke of it before to you. In every skirmish I have been in, the Orcs seem to deliberately target Prince Eldarion, drawing him away from the others. They do not attempt to kill him, but get close enough to grab hold and whisk him away."

Eldarion squirmed as every eye turned to him. True, he too had noticed this, but he could not attribute any particular reason to it other than a desire to kidnap the king's heir with an aim to use it against him somehow.

"Not only the prince," said Beregond, Bergil's father and captain of Farmir's personal guard. "In our fights in Ithilien, I have observed the same phenomenon with Lord Elboron."

Now it was Elboron's turn to be analysed, and he looked far more uncomfortable about it.

"Ransom?" asked Prince Imrahil.

"It is not the way of Orcs."

"Revenge then? Something symbolic to weaken our morale?" Imrahil looked from one to the other. "They are the two most prominent young lords in Gondor, the future King and his Steward. "It would be the end of the newly re-established Kingdom if they were both to be taken and killed in some public manner."

Elboron's eyes had widened, and Eldarion had to refrain from rolling his. The man was not adept at hiding his emotions.

"Ransom or public execution, we cannot be certain," Elrohir said, "for these Orcs as we have observed do not follow the usual patterns. Lord Elboron and my nephew may be being targeted for another purpose entirely. One we do not yet understand."

As he said this, Elboron and Eldarion's eyes met across the room. Both knew what the other was thinking. These visions and phantom pains may be linked to this matter. It was beyond his understanding, and it frightened him more than a little. Elboron felt it too, and he was restless in his chair, glancing towards his father and the king. Eldarion met his eyes again and shook his head almost imperceptibly. _Not yet_ , he mouthed. Elboron resisted and frowned at him, jerking his head towards his ankle. Eldarion flexed his own, disturbed by this latest development. But why would Orcs be targeting them because of something like this? He shook his head again, and Elboron slumped in his chair. Mercifully, no one seemed to have noticed this exchange.

"We must consider it possible," his father said gravely. "The only people largely unaffected by these raids seems to be the Dwarves. Whether that is because most of their settlements lie within the caves themselves and are harder to attack or some other purpose remains to be seen. Ithilien has been struck hard, as well as Gondor, and Rohan to a lesser extent. All those lands which these two men lay claim to. The attacks may be an attempt to somehow draw them out."

The conversation had now turned into one that made Eldarion's heart thump painfully against his chest. These attacks could be for the sole purpose of capturing him? Those people that were dying …

As he considered this, the doors to the hall were thrown open, and in the frame stood a small but broad figure, fully armoured and with two axes strapped to his belt under a thick beard.

"Started without me, eh?" the figure boomed. "Not very courteous these halls of yours, Aragorn!"

His father laughed, his cares vanishing for a moment. "You must forgive me, Gimli. Come and be seated."

"I didn't even know you were invited," Pippin said, as the Dwarf stumped towards them and sank into a chair a servant brought for him. "If you were, you're very late and ought to be apologising."

"Indeed, Master Took, indeed," Gimli said. "But don't think you can get one over on me so easily. I was not invited."

"Then why did you come? I thought you were in the North?"

"I came to ask for aid, but it seems as if you have your own troubles." The Dwarf peered around the room. "My visit to the King under the Mountain was less pleasant than I had hoped it would be. King Thorin III asked me to come south again to bear the news and ask for assistance."

"What ill news do you bear?" his kin from the Glittering Caves cried. "What other evils now befall that kingdom?"

"Orcs," Gimli spat. "Of the same kind I believe that I have since heard have been plaguing you. We in the Lonely Mountain were left well enough alone, but our allies in Dale were besieged nightly by these foes. Outlying homes burned, innocents murdered. The Men of Dale and the warriors from Erebor have held them at bay, but our defences remain weak. Thorin asked me if you would consent to release some of your men in Arnor to help in the fight, Aragorn."

"Gladly I will grant it," his father said, "but your news is grievous indeed."

"I guess that squashes our theory that they're after Eldarion and Elboron," Merry said glumly. "What could they want in Dale?"

Eldarion became aware then that Elboron had gone stiff in his chair, hands clenching the wooden arms so tightly that his hands were white. They exchanged a look of panic. Elboron had been dreaming of a city beneath a mountain under attack. Neither of them had thought it to be Erebor or Dale that he saw, a realm so far off and mostly unconcerned with events in Gondor. Could someone in Dale be the source of their visions? He thought of his own vision of the waterfall in the gully and his theory collapsed. There was nothing like that in Dale as far as he knew. His heart still raced however, as he knew Elboron's would be. This was the first confirmation that they things they were seeing and experiencing could be real.

He thought of his own dreams of late, filled with dark shadows and burning pain. He thought he sensed a presence there with him, a flickering light in the dark, sometimes accompanied by a fair laugh at odds with the surroundings. That laugh lingered with him into his waking hours, so clear and free of taint.

Elboron was deathly white and Eldarion could see his resolve was wavering. He had to do something, quickly.

"My lord-" Elboron began, but Eldarion cut him off.

"What about the Elves?" he said swiftly, making Elboron start. "What is happening on their lands?"

He looked solely at Gimli, but was aware of Elboron's eyes boring into him, angry and confused. Unfortunately, this exchange had not gone unwitnessed. Both his own father and Elboron's had turned their gazes in their direction with a frown. Gimli sighed heavily and rested a hand on his axe.

"That is the second part of my ill news."

"Not more!" Pippin cried. "What has happened now? Has Sauron himself risen again in Dol Guldur?"

"Do not joke of such things," Gimli said, "I fear some darkness indeed has fallen on Mirkwood again. I heard tell that they too have been besieged by Orcs, though the details are somewhat sketchy. The Wardens of the Forest would not allow me to pass, and so I had to take the long road around. They were afraid of something. Something terrible has occurred."

"Is Legolas alright?" Sam asked in distress. "I couldn't bear it if it had. He being so good to us all those years ago."

"I did not see him, which disturbed me," Gimli said, great pain in his eyes. "Never since the fall of Sauron have I been denied entry into Mirkwood. The friendship I have with Legolas has eased the hostilities between our two races, and we have never been on better terms. He would not have turned me away, so I fear something indeed has befallen him. Something terrible enough to reignite all their old fears of outsiders. I fear a return to the days of darkness."

"We will not allow it," the king said, and it appeared to him and everyone seated there that a change had come over him. Gone were his cares and worries, replaced by a fierce determined fire in his eyes and a strong resolute expression. His voice seemed to resonate inside each of their heads. "We did not fight and suffer insurmountable loss for one short quarter century of peace. We will not allow darkness to once again cover our lands. We will fight it now, before evil can fully take root again. This will not be a repeat of times gone by. We will fight, and we will win."

The room was lifted by this speech and they called out cries of loyalty and support. A new fire had been lit beneath them and all were bound by their love and respect for this great king who had once before led them to salvation.

Eldarion watched this effect his father had and could not help but be disheartened. His father was like a king of old, the glory of Númenor embodied in one man. All loved him. All would gladly lay down their life for him.

Who would do the same for him? How could he follow such a man? He could not even be trusted to lead patrols without being babysat by Bergil.

If any were to find out about his and Elboron's strange visions now … his chance of winning glory to match his father would never be realised.

* * *

Elboron stood outside the doors to the hall, trembling though the day was yet warm. He was afraid, and he did not know what to do.

That his visions were real terrified him, and he could not stop thinking about Dale, and whoever's eyes he was seeing through. Someone was in Dale watching his destruction grow closer and closer and was able to do nothing to stop it.

If only Eldarion had not cut across him. He could have ended this burden he bore. Elessar needed to know what was happening to his son and foster-son. Neither of them could explain it, but perhaps he might. At the very least he would have someone else to speak to of it.

Eldarion seemed desperate to solve the mystery on his own, to save face probably. Elboron had no such scruples. He knew he was no leader of men. He was a poor replacement of his father as Captain of the White Tower. He was no warrior at heart, 'gentle-natured like his father' he had been described as before now. But his father at least could command men and win their love. What could he do? His father chose not to live his life as a warrior, but could readily become one if needed. Elboron could fight, but had even less of a stomach for it than his father did.

He heard his name be called, and looked up as his uncle Éomer came to stand by him. "It has been too long since we met, Elboron," he said in Rohirric. "Not since your promotion. I have heard you are doing well."

Elboron tried not to scoff aloud. _Doing well._ He was trailing in Eldarion's footsteps wherever he went. He had not the confidence the prince had to command others.

"It goes as well as it can in such times, uncle," he replied instead. "I have been in Ithilien with my parents defending its borders."

"I had heard that Éowyn had taken up her sword once more," Éomer said heavily. "Her heart is courageous, but I fear for her. She had sworn against such an eventuality. Still, evil times must be met with hard choices."

Yes, his mother certainly was courageous. He resembled her more than his father, and people often expected that he too would carry out great acts of valour as she had. But the bravery of the House of Eorl and his forefathers seemed to elude him. Why could he not be more like her instead of his father? Perhaps then it would be easier for him to find distinction among his people. As it was, he feared he would one day fade into oblivion. _The shy captain of Ithilien. No one will remember me._

Éomer rested his hand on his shoulder. "Worry not, my sister-son. These evil days shall soon pass with Aragorn leading us. You should have seen him in battle. His enemy would flee before him. He shall not lead us wrong."

No, he probably wouldn't, he thought. But the choices of his son more and more felt to Elboron like he was leading them both down a path they could not escape from.

Elboron looked like one of the brave men of Rohan. Why could he then not act like one and speak against his friend for the first time in his life?

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Please, please, please leave me a review/follow/fave if you can. I thrive on feedback, good or bad :)**


	7. Chapter 6- Attack in Ithilien

Attack in Ithilien

The people of Gondor now knew that the situation was desperate. King Elessar himself had taken to the field for the first time in fifteen years to drive off this new threat. It was both an encouraging sight to see him riding past in his shining mail with his famous sword raised high and a terrifying one, the unquestionable sign that things truly were dire.

In the past two weeks the attacks had only increased in intensity. His father had ordered the people of Gondor into their closest strongholds, holing themselves up with as much as they could carry to lessen the amount of targets that could be hit while his armies gathered their strength for an assault upon Minas Morgul. Large fortified settlements were still the safest places to be. Unfortunately, the journeys to those settlements were fraught with danger, and needed constant guard, especially at night, for that was when the attacks always came.

Eldarion was accompanying one now, taking a small village of people from a village in Ithilien to Minas Tirith. Their progress was painfully slow, and night had fallen too quickly. They had stopped for the night, deeming it too dangerous to continue, praying that the Orcs would not come across them that evening. Elboron was with him on this journey and was now on guard with the others while Eldarion caught some sleep. Not that he was getting any.

His dreams of confusing shadows and lingering pain had given way to something more substantial. Instead of darkness he saw a room whenever he closed his eyes, a dungeon with chains upon the wall. One narrow little slit passed for a window and through it pale moonlight filtered through, dully illuminating the tiny cell. He saw no one, but knew there was someone there with him. A presence that waxed and waned in strength. It was in pain, and its thoughts were dark. He sensed fear and dread, but above all grief. Grief so powerful he often awoke with tears in his eyes. Loss, what was it was. Profound loss.

His dream that night passed like all the others, real yet fleeting and unfulfilling. He heard a laugh ere he woke, as he often did. He wondered that the presence, so grief-stricken and so full of pain could laugh, yet it did. A laugh that raised his spirits every time he heard it, seeming to make his soul glad and his heart skip a beat. It almost made the pain of the dreams worth it. He loved to hear that laugh.

The journey the next morning was full of tension as he and the men tried to hurry the villagers on lest they need spend another treacherous night out in the open. He noticed Elboron riding close by him, but avoiding his eyes. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, swaying in his saddle. He was even quieter than he usually was. His dreams had not subsisted either. Every night he was back in Dale watching the Orcs assail it and the Dwarves and Men defend it. Neither of them could yet work out the significance of it all.

As they finally approached the city and hurried the villagers inside the mithril gates Eldarion kept a close eye on his friend. Things had been strained between them lately. They stayed up long into the night as they had once done as children telling silly ghost stories, only now it was their own phantoms they were discussing. That some sort of mental bond existed between them they were certain; when either of them sustained hurt in battle the other seemed to feel it to lesser degree, even when they were nowhere near each other. Each time they experienced a hurt that was not their own they were assailed with the emotions of the other, and sometimes a fleeting vision as well. They wondered whether it might not be the result of some latent power of Eldarion's Elvish blood that would form this link between them, building upon the strong friendship they already had. Indeed, his great-grandmother Galadriel had been known to communicate with the minds of others over great distances. Though he had never met her, it seemed possible he could have discovered an ability he did not know he had when faced with the dangers around him.

This however did not explain the dreams the two of them were experiencing. Why should Elboron be seeing into the mind of someone in Dale? He had no Elvish parentage, at least none in recent years. Nothing made sense.

That evening he slept in his own bed for the first time in two weeks, but the soft sheets and pillows were deceptive, for in his dream they soon turned into hard stone-cold walls behind his back. He was once more in the little cell lit by moonlight. He shivered in the cold air. His body ached from hunger and from some greater hurt. His wrists stung like they had been bound, his back burned as if touched by a whip. That grief was upon him again, that heavy unbearable grief.

The dream deepened and he found it became clearer, almost like memory. He had no control, but was a silent observer as his head twisted from side to side. Then, the head looked down and he saw hands before him. They were so pale they almost shone, long delicate fingers with nails encrusted with grime. They were trembling, with fear or cold he could not say.

Though he had heard no noise, the head jerked as the door to the cell was thrust open. One of the Shadow Orcs stood there, leering at him. It set down a bowl of water upon the stones, threw in a hunk of bread and spoke words he could not hear. Then followed the sound he lived for each night, that wondrous laugh, carefree and light, reminding him of spring days under the sun. The Orc scowled and slammed the door shut.

Slowly, the white hands reached out and pulled the bowl closer and bent over it. There reflected in the water he saw a face, a pale, fair face framed by black hair. A woman's face. A jolt ran through him as he looked into that woman's eyes, and the dream shifted, as though she had felt something too, and the next moment he was dragged unwillingly back into the land of the waking.

He lay in bed a moment longer, drenched in sweat. That woman … who was she? Why was he seeing her? Why was she a prisoner of the Orcs? He had to know. His heart was filled with a powerful, unstoppable drive to find her, know her name, find out why he had such a connection with her. She was no longer a phantom in a dream. She was real. She was in pain. He had to find her.

Perhaps she was now thinking the same about him.

* * *

He was summoned early to his father the next day. He was with one of the leaders of his patrols, and his expression was dangerous. The soldier bowed and made a hasty exit as Eldarion entered.

"The watch-towers around Mordor have fallen," he said, when Eldarion looked to him. "Evil is now creeping back into Mordor."

"This is worse than we could have imagined," he said, his heart growing cold. "How have they grown so powerful? There seems to be no end to their numbers."

"Indeed," his father said, and then he sat down, betraying a moment of weakness on his noble face that he would not do around anyone else. "This is not the world I wanted for you, Eldarion."

"But it is the world we are in, _adar_ , and we must face it the best we can," Eldarion said, taking a seat beside his father. He smiled at that, and turned to him.

"You have the wisdom of your grandfather," he said softly, reaching out to touch his face. He laughed as his fingers moved to the side of his head. "As well as his ears."

Eldarion laughed too, feeling the darkness drain away for a moment as his father traced the subtle points of his ears. "I fear I have not been too wise of late," he said, thinking back to his poor decisions in recent battles and the secret he was now keeping. "I doubt he would think much of me."

"I disagree," his father said. "Lord Elrond would be proud of the Man you are becoming. He was proud of me when I was your age, and I had not half your good judgement."

Eldarion looked away. Somehow, he doubted that. He knew how much of a disappointment he would be to his father if he knew half of what was going on.

"I will ride out to Ithilien tomorrow," his father said. "I must see for myself what has become of the defences. To have evil back in Mordor again … it must be stamped out now. I'd like you and Elboron to accompany me."

Eldarion stiffened, but nodded. "Yes, _adar._ "

His father caught the tone of his voice and forced his son to look at him. "What is going on with you and Elboron?" he asked. "It pains me to see the two of you so distant from each other."

"Distant?" he asked nervously.

"Elboron barely speaks, and though that is hardly unusual, you at least could always liven him up. But now he isolates himself, even from you. Has something happened?"

When Eldarion remained silent, his father sighed, and rested his hand on his shoulder. "It gave me great joy to see the way you two bonded as children. I knew then a great friendship would grow between you, comrades-in-arms and brothers in all else. All the better considering that one day he will become Steward to me and perhaps also to you. Where you were loud and brash, he was quiet and deep-thinking. You balance each other perfectly, and Faramir and I have long encouraged this bond. But lately … we both have observed that he is troubled, and that you share this burden. I saw the looks between you at the council. I ask now, my son, what is it that is bothering you?"

For a moment, Eldarion considered telling him everything, the link with Elboron, his dreams of the female prisoner, the overwhelming fear that something outside of his control was taking over his body. But something held him back.

"Nothing is wrong, father," he said, meeting his father's eyes. "There is naught between Elboron and I."

It was the first time in his life that he had directly lied to his father, and the king knew it. The pain in his eyes then was almost too much for him to bear.

* * *

The Orcs had come out of nowhere.

Barely had the sun set along the road the travelled in Ithilien when the Shadow Orcs had leapt upon them, killing several in the party before swords could even be drawn. They had been waiting for them.

Eldarion fought with all his strength, his sword flying through the air as he tried to decapitate every Orc that came at him. Chillingly, he noticed yet again that they were more focused on grabbing him than harming him. He did not know what would happen if one of them managed to lay a hand on him, but he feared it more than anything, a great misgiving growing inside him. Elboron too fought surrounded by Orcs, the terror in his eyes to his credit did not prevent him from standing his ground with all the others. _He underestimates himself,_ Eldarion thought wildly as he saw Elboron take down two Orcs with a single stroke. _A true son of Gondor and Rohan._

His father too was fighting close by, and Eldarion was amazed at the change in him. Andúril whistled and shone as his father expertly drove back the enemies before him. He saw now for the first time what the people had seen twenty-five years ago against the armies of Sauron. The leader, the king, the warrior. The man that men could love and would follow into the greatest of dangers.

The fight was going ill for them, anyone could see that. His father was inching his way slowly towards his son, perhaps fearing that they were beginning to close in on their prize. Eldarion released the last of his energy, determined not to be beaten down. Then, just as he destroyed another Orc he felt a searing pain run along his right arm. He dropped his sword in shock and brought his other hand around to feel along his arm for his injury. But there was none. That could only mean ...

Seized with dread, he looked up and saw Elboron clutching his arm, face screwed up in agony as blood seeped out from a wound below his elbow. An Orc was approaching him, his claw-like hand extended towards him-

"No!"

Eldarion had screamed aloud, but some other change had come over him as well, and his voice seemed to echo in his mind like the roaring torrent of a waterfall. Every last bit of strength Eldarion possessed was sent forth into that cry, all his fear, his dread, and above all his love for his friend. Something seemed to snap within him and for a moment he was no longer in his own body, but looking down on it from above. His thoughts spilled from him in waves, spreading out around him, laced with a power he did not know he possessed. It found a path, at the end of which was another presence, another mind that was familiar to him and it poured forward towards that presence as it from the breaking of a dam.

Elboron, within mere inches of the Orc's grasp suddenly bolted upright as though struck by lightning. As soon as the Orc touched him, it screamed in pain and was consumed by shadow, vanishing entirely. Elboron reeled for a moment, and then fell.

Eldarion himself fell to his knees, a wave of weariness crashing into him with the force of a Dwarvish hammer. He had no strength left in him, not even to raise the sword that lay mere inches away from him. They would be overrun entirely.

He was made aware then that the battle had changed around him. The Orcs were beginning to flee back into the shadows, running from a new enemy that had entered the fray. Eldarion looked around him and was amazed. _Elves._

They had appeared from the darkness without a sound, garbed in green and brown bearing bows and long knives. They shot green tipped arrows with deadly accuracy at their foes, striking them squarely in the forehead and destroying them utterly, while others sliced off their heads with white knives. They were not unfamiliar with this new enemy then; they knew how to fight it.

He watched, unable to move from weariness as these Elves, the first he had seen outwith his own family overpowered the Orcs, rescuing the soldiers of Gondor that had been trapped, who stared at them in wonder. The battle was over.

Eldarion waited a moment more, mind sluggish with fatigue, until he became aware again of the throbbing in his arm and remembered where it came from. Elboron!

He leapt to his feet, so tired he was stumbling like a drunk man and raced to where he had seen his friend fall. He found him lying on the earth clutching a bleeding arm and breathing heavily.

"Elboron!" he cried, falling down beside him. " _Manen le_ , _mellon nín?"_

Elboron managed a small smile, but it was clear he was in pain. " _Avaro naeth._ I'll live." He allowed Eldarion to help him into a seating position, leaning back against him. "What … what _was_ that?"

"I don't know," Eldarion replied, clutching his friend's shoulders, feeling somewhat sick. "I don't know."

How had he done that? _What_ had he done? Was that magic? His mind raced with possibilities. Elboron suddenly slumped in his arms and Eldarion was filled with sudden panic.

" _Adar!"_ he cried out, fearful, turning to look over the site of their battle _. "Tolo sí!"_

 _Boe enni dulu!"_

His father was upon him in an instant, battle-ready. His face went pale as he saw them on the ground.

" _Manen le?"_ he asked, seizing his son around the shoulder and checking him for injury.

" _Im maer. Tiro, Elboron!"_

His father turned his attention to Elboron then, whose face had now drained of all colour. Elboron felt himself wavering as he knelt there, fighting the urge to collapse. His father took Elboron's arm and cast aside the split armour there to reveal a deep wound in the flesh. He cursed to himself and ripped a section of cloth from his cloak and pressed it against the wound to staunch the bleeding, calling over his shoulder for supplies from one of the men. Eldarion remained kneeling there, supporting Elboron, his fingers digging deep into his flesh. Something had changed within him. He felt as lost as a child, trembling from within and shamefully close to tears. From the … the _magic_ or whatever it was and now this. Was this because of that magic? _What was happening to them?_

His father worked quickly, dressing the wound with the fetched bandages and tying them tightly. He looked into Elboron's face and Eldarion saw a flicker of fear there.

" _Man siniath?"_ he asked desperately. His father carefully schooled his expression.

"The wound is not too grievous," he explained. "He should not be so weak."

Eldarion closed his eyes. _I knew it_. _What I did … it has hurt him. I'll never forgive myself if this goes ill._

"His father's home is not far, we will take him there," his father said. "We should have stopped long before nightfall. We were unprepared. If it were not for the Elves ..."

Eldarion noticed then that one of the Elves had approached them, holding back on the sidelines with a pensive expression. Tall and strong he looked, with fair hair and blue eyes, a long bow strapped to his back. Something about him seemed familiar, though he was certain he had never seen him before.

" _Le hannon."_ He thanked the Elf, who nodded to him. His father looked up then and leapt to his feet the next moment with joy.

"Legolas!" he cried. " _Mae govannen, mellon nín!"_

He pulled the Elf into an embrace, which was warmly returned. " _Suilad, Aragorn._ It has been too long," he said, smiling, his face deceptively youthful. But that smile did not reach his eyes, which were stormy with wild emotion. He looked at the two youths on the ground.

"Your son?"

"Eldarion, yes. And Elboron, son of Faramir."

Legolas looked at both of them. "I remember," he said softly. "Though both of you were only babes when I last looked on you."

Eldarion did not know how to respond to this. He had heard many tales of Legolas and his prowess with a bow, ranked the greatest marksman of his time, and other more informal tales of the Fellowship and their everlasting friendship. But unlike the other members of the Fellowship who were regular visitors to Gondor, Legolas had stayed away, occupied with his people in the north as they sought to restore the damage done to the woods in the war and to their allies in Dale. The last his father had seen him had been five years ago, when he last held court at Annúminas in Arnor. Legolas and the Hobbits had been his guests of honour. Eldarion had been forced to remain behind to complete his studies.

Legolas returned his attention to the king. "I must speak urgently with you, Aragorn," he said, his voice low. "No time may be wasted."

His father nodded. "Then let us be off. I head to Emyn Arnen for the night, where Elboron may recover in his father's house. We may talk there."

Legolas agreed, and turned to speak to his woodland warriors who then quickly prepared to depart, fetching spent arrows and helping the wounded. Legolas had been described to Eldarion many times by those who knew him, and all spoke of his gentleness, his joy for nature and the way he would often sing under his breath. But he did not see that in the Elf before him. He saw someone struggling with immense pain, a light in his eyes had been extinguished. He was a man that was grieving.

* * *

 **A/N: Not sure if anyone is actually reading this but ...please consider leaving a review if you've enjoyed this or want to leave some feedback. I welcome it all :)**

 **Sindarin Elvish** **:**

 **Adar- Father**

 **Manen le** **,** **mellon nín?- How are you, my friend?**

 **Avaro naeth- Don't worry.**

 **Tolo sí! Boe enni dulu!- Come here! I need help!**

 **Im maer. Tiro, Elboron!- I'm well. Look, Elboron!**

 **Man siniath?- What news?**

 **Le hannon- Thank you**

 **Mae govannen, mellon nín- Well met, my friend**

 **Suilad, Aragorn- Greetings, Aragorn**


	8. Chapter 7- New Questions

New Questions

The journey to Emyn Arnen was swift, the very presence of the Elves walking alongside them seemed to make the journey pass more quickly, their keen eyes searching all around the dark countryside around them for another ambush. Eldarion rode more slowly than usual, for Elboron was seated before him, still weakened from his wound. He shifted his eyes to either side, wishing that the others would not ride so closely. He must speak with Elboron about what had happened during the fight. He had to try and understand if he had caused his friend any suffering.

The great hall at Emyn Arnen sat within a ring of meadows that bloomed with wondrous colour in spring, filling the air with sweet, renewing scent, but now lay colourless and plain. A small village ran down the side of the hill on which it lay, and all was encircled with a tall wall stationed with many guards. They were admitted immediately, and the party made its way to the hall, less grand but no less beautiful than Minas Tirith, where Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn stood outside to greet them. When Faramir saw Elboron lying slumped before the prince he cried out in distress.

"Alas! What has happened?"

"He will recover, Faramir, do not trouble yourself," the king said as he dismounted. "Have him taken to his chambers to rest."

Éowyn ran forwards and took Elboron from Eldarion, supporting him with one of his arms around her neck and hers around his waist. He had recovered enough strength to walk with his mother into the hall. Eldarion watched him go with a heavy heart. Faramir made to follow them.

"Not yet, Faramir, we must speak before you go to him, it cannot wait," his father said. Faramir looked as if he wished to argue, but nodded and gestured for them to enter.

The halls were warm and pleasant, and Eldarion felt some of his terror begin to subside. His trembling had finally ceased, and the darkness did not seem so absolute. As they entered they saw Éomer coming towards them. "I just saw Elboron go by. What befell him?"

"We were attacked on the road," his father said. "He sustained a nasty wound, but will soon be well again."

It was then Eldarion saw another small figure lurking behind Éomer. "Damn Orcs! Can't a lad come home in peace any more?" Gimli stepped out in front of them all, taping his axe as usual. It appeared he was about to launch into another tirade when he saw who stood at the king's side.

"Legolas!" he called. "It pleases my heart to see you, my friend! I have long feared the worst ever since your people refused my passage along the Old Forest Road. Took me twice as long to get home!"

"I apologise," said Legolas, smiling a little, but still looking grave. "But recent events have given us good reason to be cautious."

"Your lands have been subject to attack then too?" Faramir asked.

"We were attacked only once," Legolas said, and his face crumpled with grief. "But it was enough, for they stole from us our greatest treasure."

He halted a moment, voice thick with anguish. "Twenty of our strongest warriors were captured by the Orcs, and among them was one who should not have been there. My daughter, Neniel Galadhwen, the Princess of Mirkwood."

Chilling, horrified silence met these words. The Elven warriors stood sombre, some weeping openly. Legolas himself looked close to tears.

" _Nae, gerich naergon nín,_ " his father said, hand on heart. "When did this take place?"

"Nigh on six weeks ago." Legolas was breathing heavily. "She sneaked into our Company as we attacked the Orcs. We did not know she was there until too late. They surrounded her and before we could do anything they had literally vanished into the shadows, taking our people with them."

"They carried them into the shadows? Then it was by some prior design?"

"I believe so. They targeted her specifically."

Eldarion stared at him in horror, feeling the ground begin to slip away from him.

"Your daughter taken, Aragorn and Faramir's sons almost taken … what on earth do these Orcs want?" Gimli exclaimed.

Legolas did not answer, and turned to his father. "Aragorn, I need your help," he said quickly. "We have been unable to track these Orcs through the shadows, but our scouts have seen much as they have searched for her. We believe she has been taken prisoner to Minas Morgul. You know she cannot long survive there. I beg of you for your aid." Tears now fell freely down his face. "She is twenty-four years old, Aragorn, not yet fully grown by our standards. I cannot abandon her there."

"I will not ask you to," his father said, a new light in his eyes. "I swear to you now to do what I can to rescue your daughter, by whatever strength is in my blood. Evil has infiltrated Minas Morgul and Mordor once more on my watch. I will not rest until that evil has been annihilated."

Eldarion did not listen to the rest of the conversation. He was far away in his own thoughts, his head pounding painfully as he tried to make sense of it all. The Elven princess had been singled out in that attack. He and Elboron were singled out. He and Elboron shared a bond of the mind. The Elven princess was a prisoner …

He froze as he realised the ramifications of where his thoughts were leading him. The girl of his dreams, the woman trapped in that tiny cell with only pain and grief for company … was Legolas' daughter. For weeks now he had been sharing her thoughts, her feelings, her sight. He saw the waterfall once more, remembering now that the halls of the Elvenking were situated at the confluence of two rivers where they fell from a cliff. That vision had been … six weeks ago. Only a few days later had be first experienced a phantom pain. That pain had not come from Elboron that time. It had come from Princess Neniel as she was captured.

He saw her now more clearly than ever, no dream this time, but a living vision. He saw the room around her, dark and unforgiving, miles removed from this welcoming hall. He could feel her agony, her despair rippling through him. He could feel Elboron's too, his arm throbbing in pain, his body weak and feeble. He suddenly found it hard to breathe. The world around him was spinning. His head ached, and his soul was being crushed under the weight of two others. Three of them were sharing this link, perhaps four if Elboron's visions of Dale were also found to be real. Their minds were as one. And the Orcs were after them. He had never before wished so deeply that he was as brave as his father.

The weakness he had experienced in the forest came back upon him in full force, his body drained of all vitality until he felt as weak as a child. His mind was no longer under his own control, instead two other presences were forcing themselves upon it, pushing with all their might until he could hardly distinguish his own thoughts. Pain, grief, despair … pain, grief, despair … so weak ...

Unable to bear any more he felt his legs collapse under him and he went tumbling to the stone floor, clapping his hands against his ears, body trembling like a leaf..

" _Ego, lamath! Ego!"_

The world before him was changing rapidly, flashing lightning quick between the cold cell, Famamir's hall, and another room that he knew to be Elboron's. He felt as if he was floating, neither here nor there, lost in an abyss.

He heard his name be called but he could not pull himself back into his own mind. He was falling …

* * *

Eldarion awoke, his body aching all over, still lost in the mugginess of sleep. His eyes remained closed as he drifted into consciousness, his mind struggling to make sense of the world. He was warm and comfortable, the sheets around him soft and soothing. Gradually, the sound of voices came to him. He opened his eyes a fraction and looked out, seeing that he lay in a bright room where rays of sunlight danced on the walls. At the entrance to the room his father stood, deep in conversation with Faramir. Eldarion frowned. How had he gotten here?

"I'm worried, Aragorn," Faramir was saying, his shoulders hunched. "Something is happening with our sons."

"I fear it too, but I cannot make sense of it," his father said. "Something about those Orcs affects them more than any other. Elboron's wound was not serious, and Eldarion was not harmed at all, yet both succumbed entirely to some great malady. And it is not the first time for either."

"What was it he said before he swooned," Faramir asked. "The Elvish?"

His father was silent a moment. "He said: 'Be gone, echoing voices. Be gone.'"

"Voices?" Faramir's tone was frightened now. "What is happening to them?"

"Something I fear I have no power to halt."

"You must know something!" Faramir folded his arms across his body as though trying to give himself comfort. "There is something that they are both keeping from us, and that disturbs me greatly, for neither of them are deceitful at heart. They are not themselves. And this news of Legolas cannot be a coincidence. They are targeting our children, Aragorn."

Something clicked then in Eldarion's mind. Legolas … the elf-maiden ... the magic … He was suddenly fully awake. He tried to sit up, and was met by a splitting headache, making him gasp aloud.

His father's head snapped around at the noise and he swiftly came to his side, placing his hand over Eldarion's. Faramir backed out of the room to allow them some privacy and when he had gone, his father spoke.

"Do not try to move, you are still weak."

"I'm fine," Eldarion sad, ignoring him and sitting upright, massaging his temples.

His father watched him anxiously. "What happened, Eldarion?" he asked gently. "What hurt befell you?"

"None," he answered, avoiding his father's eyes. "It was the fatigue of the battle, nothing more."

"But you are hurt-"

"Only my pride," Eldarion said uncomfortably. "Did everyone see me faint?"

"They are worried about you."

"They have no need to be, and neither have you." His father did not believe him, and Eldarion did not believe himself. He prayed his father would simply let him be, not ask any more questions. He needed to speak with Elboron before anything else. He needed to try and understand what had happened between them. His father could not know yet. He could not appear to be any weaker than he already looked. How then would he ever earn his respect?

"I wish you would speak with me, Eldarion," his father said, his eyes pained. "Something is frightening you. I would know what it is."

"I'm not frightened."

"I know you, my son," he said. "It showed after the battle. You rarely slip into Elvish around those who are not your family, only when you are subject to great emotion; joy, wonder, love … and fear."

"Elboron was hurt. I worried for him."

"It was more than that. You never show fear around others. And what occurred in the hall below …"

Eldarion flushed in embarrassment. So this was what his father thought of him, a cowering child in need of protection? He took a steadying breath and met his father's eyes.

"I need to speak with Elboron."

His father's face tightened. He stood and moved away from the bed, pausing to turn back in the doorway, his expression was closed and his eyes sad. "You both must rest for today while we carry out our patrols of Mordor's border. You are not to disturb each other. Whatever secret counsels the two of you must have with each other, it can wait." His gaze hardened. "Whatever it is cannot be so important that you would not tell your king."

He left the room, and Eldarion groaned, holding his head in his hands. _Valar help me._

* * *

"Are you trying?"

"Yes, of course I am!"

"Then why is nothing happening?"

"Because this is sheer folly!" Elboron threw down his hands and stood up, stalking to the other side of Eldarion's chambers in frustration. "We cannot create magic, Eldarion!"

"We did before!" his friend urged, also standing. "What else could explain that battle? You know it as well as I."

"I don't know anything, Eldarion," Elboron sighed, and it appeared then as if he had become a whole lot younger. "I don't understand."

Eldarion softened and came to stood by his friend, a hand on his shoulder. Elboron looked up with weary eyes too old for that youthful face.

"Our minds are linked together, Elboron," he said gently. "That much we know. When we are in danger, or in a state of great emotion, that link becomes tangible. That is why we can feel each other's hurts, see what the other sees. During that fight, something else happened. Some power was transferred from me to you, power that destroyed that Orc with a single touch. Magic, perhaps, I'm not sure. That is why we must explore it. Know for certain."

"It frightens me, Eldarion," he said. "When our minds are like that, I cannot tell whose is whose. What if we lose ourselves entirely in each other and cannot return to our own minds?"

That thought also had come to Eldarion, and he could not lie and tell his friend that he was not also troubled by it. This entire procedure had him spooked.

"What if something like that happens again by accident?" he reasoned. "We were both like helpless kittens after the magic, and that could be our downfall in another fight. We need to learn to control this, whatever the risks."

"What we need is to tell your parents."

Eldarion dropped his arm and moved away, heart thumping painfully. "We cannot."

"They were both raised in Imladris. Your mother is the granddaughter of the Lady of the Wood. If anyone were to know about magic, it would be them."

Eldarion breathed deeply, trying to come up with a rational explanation for his reluctance to reveal their secret. But how could he explain it? How could he make Elboron see just how vital it was that he take control of this on his own? He did not want to remain the failed prince of Gondor, the mere shadow of his father whom everyone looked down on an inferior copy. This was what he needed to do to prove that he was more than some half elf living off his father's glory. If they could understand this phenomenon, figure out why the Orcs were after them, it could be the thing that changed his fate.

"Not yet," he said finally. "Let us try on our own first. It would only worry them."

"They're worried enough as it is," Elboron said. "And what of Legolas? When are you going to tell him you're seeing visions of his daughter?"

"When are you going to tell Gimli you're seeing visions of some Man or Dwarf of Dale?" Eldarion shot back. He immediately regretted his harsh tone as he saw Elboron's flinch. "What use would it be to say anything?"

"He would at least know his daughter is alive."

"And still beyond his reach," Eldarion said. "It would be more curse than blessing. What if the visions were to suddenly cease? What conclusion would we draw then? Until we know why the three of us, or four if we include the one from Dale, are so linked together, we cannot offer any reassurances to our families."

Elboron was not convinced, and to be honest, neither was Eldarion. More and more he felt the nagging feeling that he should just admit defeat and tell his father. Was this really wise?

He moved to the window and looked down over the city, now teeming with the multitudes of people evacuated from outlying villages. Smoke loomed on the horizon. The past few weeks had boded ill for all of them. Gondor was burning, Ithilien hit the hardest. Most of the people there had ran, abandoning the homes they had built when Faramir had reclaimed the land after the War of the Ring. The latest reports were that the watch-towers built to guard over Mordor were infested with Orcs and that the land beyond was slowly being overrun once again. Mordor had lain empty all these years, but now the shadow that had once covered it had returned and Orcs lived there again, building new towers of their own. The Orcs that could only live in shadow. The Orcs that so badly wanted the two young lords.

They had still not come up with any reason why, other than they wanted the strange power that existed between them. But that then raised the question of where had this power come from, and why had it arisen now? The two were interlinked, but it was hard to tell which had come first. Was the power in response to the Orcs, or was this power the reason they were here?

And then there was Dale. Why was it being attacked? Eldarion now too had had visions of this city, though his dreams turned most often to the elf maiden. Elboron had seen her also, though only in fleeting glimpses. Who was this mysterious fourth person? Why did Elboron in particular seem more attune to their thoughts?

A knock from the door prevented them from arguing further. Elanor had entered, and offered a quick curtsey to them both, her cheeks pink. Still only a young hobbit-lass, her father had pleaded for her to return to the Shire away from the fighting, but she had the same courage as Sam, and refused to leave her mistress.

"Please, my lord," she said as she lowered her head, still nervous around royalty. "Your mother sends for you. She's waiting in the Houses of Healing. She'd like your aid with the injured."

"I'll be there shortly," he said, thanking her as she left the room. He glanced at Elboron. "We'll try this again another time. Don't worry. I won't ask you to keep it secret much longer."

Elboron made no answer to this, but turned away to look out of the window. As Eldarion left to go to his mother he fiddled with the ring on his finger which had belonged to his grandfather. What wouldn't he give now to have him here in Middle-Earth, or any of his other Elven relations? Perhaps if they had been here he would have had more interest in tales of magic and the spiritual nature of the world and he would be better prepared for this. Elboron's face lingered in his memory. He was failing his friend. The thought sent a stab through his heart.

He helped his mother in the Houses of Healing for several hours, tending to those grievously wounded by the sword of the Orcs. they smiled as he approached, crying out to him: " _Ernil, Ernil!_ " but he felt like no prince to them. Many of the men who lay dying were men under his own command, whom he himself had led into battle. He was responsible for them. They had been fighting for him, and risking their lives to protect him. He did not deserve it. He had done nothing to earn their respect. Their love for him was naught but an extension of their love for his father. How could they have confidence in him when he had none for himself?

" _Man le trasta, ioneg?"_ his mother asked, as he stood by her in the gardens looking out over the city.

"Nothing troubles me, _naneth_."

"You should not lie to me," she said, turning her piercing gaze upon him. "It is not wise to hide yourself in shadows when shadows already exist around us."

"It has been over two months now," he said heavily, dropping his gaze. "Will this never end?"

She placed her hands over his and offered him a smile that eased his heart. "All things pass, Eldarion. We of long life know that better than most. This shadow will not last. I have no doubt."

As he looked towards the mountains of Mordor, wreathed in smoke, he found it hard to believe her.

Later that evening as the left the houses and made his way back to the seventh level he was halted by the sound of a heated argument in the Courtyard of the Tree. As he recognised his father's voice, he slipped into the shadows of the Citadel, peering to see who it was he was with. He froze as he recognised Legolas in the dull light. He was wringing his hands.

"I cannot wait any longer, Aragorn," he said in strained Elvish. "She has been there too long. I must go."

"Mounting a force large enough to assail Minas Morgul is taking time, Legolas," his father responded. "We cannot afford to make mistakes. A siege must be carefully planned. If anything goes wrong our enemy may attempt to kill her rather than allow her to be rescued. We cannot afford to be reckless."

"But every day she must grow weaker!"

"I am aware of that, but I can do nothing more." His father was pacing now. "We were barely holding back the tide of enemies as it is. To attack before we have gathered our strength would be folly."

"Do you believe that or is it an excuse?" Legolas was glowering at him. "Would you hesitate if it were your son?"

Eldarion glanced towards his father, who had now gone very still. "No, I would not," he admitted. "But then a father is rarely rational when it comes to his children. Recent weeks have proven that to me."

 _What did that mean?_ Eldarion frowned to himself.

"I swore I would help you find your daughter, Legolas, but I also have my kingdom to think of. Precious though she is to you, is the life of one Elf worth exposing all of Gondor, and Rohan as well? I cannot act until it is safe to do so."

"So my daughter is expendable?"

"I did not say that."

"You implied it." Legolas was trembling, his hands clenched into fists. "I followed you on many dangers, Aragorn. I went into Moria by your side, pursued Uruk-Hai across hundreds of leagues and defended the realms of men against evil. I walked with you on the Paths of the Dead because of the faith I had in you. Without me you would not wear that crown. I never asked for repayment for my efforts for I knew the rewards were to be seen in victory alone. But was all of that for naught? Will you not aid me now as I aided you?"

"It is not lack of will that prevents me, Legolas," his father said fervently. "Only practicality. We could not win against Morgul as we currently stand. But I promise you that we will go there, you and I. We will find her, I swear it."

"By which time she may already be dead," Legolas said flatly. "The Enemy wanted her for a reason, Aragorn, possibly the same reason they want the prince and his friend. Whatever that reason is, it cannot bode well for any of us. We must get her back."

His father and Legolas walked off then, continuing their argument in more hushed tones as Eldarion considered what he had just heard. His father was stalling the attack on Minas Morgul, which meant he believed it had little chance of success. His heart froze as he thought of the Elven princess trapped in that place. How could they abandon her there? Her suffering was with him always, overtaking his dreams and lingering with him during the day.

He needed to take her from that place. Her presence had been growing fainter every evening of late and he knew she was fading. He had not caught another glimpse of her face since last time, but the memory of it filled him utterly. Above all, the sound of her laughter had become scarce. That wondrous, joyous sound was slowly being wrenched from her in that dark pit. He needed to go after her.

He tried now to reach her, as he had been practicing with Elboron, closing his eyes and bending his thought towards her. He and Elboron had managed in recent days to brush their minds together when they sat for long periods casting out their thoughts in silent meditation, sometimes catching a glimpse through the other's eyes, hearing their voice in their own head or sensing their emotion. But he could not do it with her. His mind simply hit a solid wall.

Was this the reason for their link? So that they could become strong together and rescue her? Was he bound to her? Was this what the ancient songwriters would call his fate, a Doom that has been laid upon him?

All he knew for certain was that time was running out.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who is reading this story. Couldn't believe it when I saw that this story has had now over 500 views! Thank you! 3 I've been working on this fic for two years and it's possibly my favourite of all the things I've written (this story is looong) so I'm glad there are people reading it. I'd love love love _love_ to get some feedback from some of you if you have the time. Writers thrive on reviews! :)**

 **Till next time! :)**

* * *

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Nae, gerich naergon nín-** **Alas, you have my expression of deep regret.**

 **Ego, lamath! Ego!- Be gone, echoing voices. Be gone!**

 **Ernil, Ernil! - Prince, prince!**

 **Man le trasta, ioneg? - What troubles you, my son?**

 **Naneth- Mother**


	9. Chapter 8- Raised Fists

**A/N: Thanks to anyone reading this story! Can't believe it's almost at 600 reads now! It's greatly appreciated. Love you all! :)**

* * *

Raised Fists

The ambush was well underway, and Faramir, Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien and Lord of Emyn Arnen was leading it, his armour shining brightly in the moonlight and his sword flashing as it fell upon his foes. Those who beheld him saw him as he was in his younger years, leading the recapture of Osgiliath, defending Gondor from the armies of Sauron. Elboron saw his father in a way he never had before. He truly was a great warrior, as all the tales told.

They had gathered around one of the old watch-towers on the borders of Ithilien which had become home to some of the Shadow Orcs and begun to assault it as soon as night fell. The Orcs were falling to their blades like flies.

As the last Orc outside the tower fell his father turned to face him. "Come, let us go inside."

"You think more are within?"

"Yes, I do. And we should search it for any clues as to their movements."

Elboron nodded, gripping his sword tightly. He'd only been back in action for the better part of a week after his arm had healed, but already he felt way out of step. He'd chosen to come back to the land of his birth rather than remain with Gondor's main army. Eldarion had begged him to remain in Minas Tirith to defend the city by night and practice their 'magic' by day, his uncle Éomer had requested his aid in Rohan, and his father had wished him by his side in Ithilien. He was being pulled in so many directions he did not know where to turn.

His father's men had already broken through the heavy door at the base of the tower and he entered with his father alert for any movement in the shadows. He tried to keep his arm from trembling, a combination of both fatigue and fear. His dreams had been more troubled lately; the city of Dale was burning, and the person whose mind he was sharing was terrified. He wondered if that terror was not leaking through to his waking thoughts for everyday now he lived with a cold dread and jumped at the slightest noise. Or maybe he really was a coward at heart. He looked at his father up ahead. He'd followed his footsteps and become a Captain of Gondor. It was what was expected for one of his station and breeding after all, despite how much he shied from the thought of it. How could any son of such valiant parents be a coward?

Eldarion sprung into his vision. What sort of Steward would he become if he feared to speak his mind? His loyalty to his friend was testing every limit he had to the extreme. He did not know how much of this deception he could bear.

His father's head jerked and he gave a cry, running up some stairs and into a wide room, some sort of holding area with his sword outstretched. Elboron followed him, summoning what little courage he had, quickly despatching the first leering Orc he came across. As it fell, he could see the rest of the room more clearly where his father and his men were fighting. But beyond them, huddled on the ground in chains were a group of prisoners. Elvish prisoners.

As Elboron's gaze fell upon the tall Elf that seemed to be their leader, a jolt of recognition ran through him like fire. In that moment he stood not in Ithilien but in a sun-dappled forest under a green canopy. The Elf was before him, dressed in the garb of a warrior, smiling at him, showing him a variety of weapons and teaching him how to use them. _Istonon._ The word came to him then from long memory. _Teacher_. He looked at the other Elves, and he knew their faces too. His mind wandered once more, and for a second he caught a glimpse of that dark cell and its prisoner … these were the Elves captured alongside her. It was _she_ who was recognising them through his eyes.

" _Elboron! Tiro!_ "

He jumped as Eldarion's voice sounded as loud in his mind as if he had been standing beside him. But he had no time to wonder what had happened. He had halted a second too long. He turned just as he saw a pair of large, strong arms reaching out to him, seizing him from around his neck. The stench of decay filled his lungs. Panic threatened to overwhelm him then. He struggled fiercely, kicking his opponent away and trying to step out of his reach. Just as it looked he would be grabbed again his father leapt into the frame, slicing off its head with one fell swoop, sending the Orc back into shadows.

Elboron breathed out, and staggered backwards, his mind still ringing with Eldarion's voice. He felt sickened. _So close …_

The battle was over, and the prisoners cried out in joy as the men of Gondor went to free them from their bonds. But Faramir had turned to his son, his face white with fury.

"What were you _thinking?"_ his father demanded. "Stopping in the middle of battle like that? You should know better!"

"I-I'm sorry, father," Elboron stammered, his face burning hot.

"You might have been taken!" his father said, coming closer, his eyes wild. "Do you know what that would have done to me? Your mother?"

Elboron swallowed, his throat tight. He knew that he now appeared a greater coward than ever. And all his father's men were here to see this.

His father's eyes softened, and he breathed deeply. "Elboron, what is happening to you?" he asked, his voice quieter. "Tell me, please."

"I don't know," Elboron said honestly. "I don't _know_."

* * *

Eldarion paced impatiently around the encampment as Osgiliath, his hands clenched in anticipation. He had to be alright … he _had_ to be …

For a week now his father had been assembling his army here on the east shores outside the city of Osgiliath, which had still not been fully rebuilt. All his father's allies were here in a veritable city of tents, Éomer, Imrahil, his uncles, Gimli and a contingent of Dwarves, Legolas and his Elves, Éowyn and most of the fighting force of Ithilien and even the three Hobbits, all with short swords strapped to their belts. They were to make an attempt on the Morgul Vale within days. Faramir and other captains had been sent out to retake the watch-towers along the way to ease their passage.

Elboron had gone with his father to retake one of these towers, and they had been due to return before sunset, which was only in an hour or so, and they had not yet arrived. Eldarion was sick with worry. He ran through what had happened once more. While sitting in his own tent cleaning his sword he had been hit with a wave of emotion from Elboron through their link that had left him gasping for breath. He had blinked and then seen before him a room of fighting Men and Orcs, and Elvish prisoners. Elboron had been staring at them, feeling recognition that Eldarion shared, and had not been aware of the presence that even he, leagues away could sense coming behind him. All he could think about in that moment was warning him, and he had called out with his mind, desperate to be heard, hoping against hope that it would work when so often it had failed in their practice sessions.

He was left unsatisfied, as the link had broken then and Eldarion was seized with a dread of what that could mean. _Please, Valar, protect him._

He heard the ringing of a horn, and was running the next second, arriving at his father's tent just as Faramir was dismounting from his horse. Eldarion ran forwards and did not relax until he saw Elboron beside him. His body felt weak from relief.

"Valar, be thanked," he said as he approached. "I thought you had been taken!"

"He almost was," Faramir said sharply. His eyes narrowed. "But how do you know that?"

Elboron looked to Eldarion and he was shocked to see an anger glimmering there behind his eyes. They were spared answering when Eldarion's father approached with all the lords and ladies of his council.

"It is done then?" he asked.

As Faramir answered in the affirmative, Legolas from his position beside the king gave a cry.

"Arveldir!" He hurried forwards to the group of Elves that had come up behind Faramir and his men and approached their leader. "It gives me great joy to see you."

"For us as well, my prince," the Elf said, bowing. He was dressed in ragged clothes that had likely once been of fine making. "We had thought never to be delivered from our captors."

"But is this all of you?" Legolas asked, his face falling. "What of Neniel?"

Arveldir exchanged glances with his fellow Elves. "The princess was separated from us, my lord. We have not seen her for two weeks."

"But what-"

"I fear some evil purpose in this, Aragorn," Faramir said then. "The prisoners had been moved there to that tower specifically from Minas Morgul, and not well guarded. The assault was far easier than it should have been."

His father's eyes widened. "You think they wanted us to rescue them? But why? For what purpose?"

"I cannot say."

"But Arveldir," Legolas interrupted, his voice quick and thick. "Tell me more of my daughter. Tell me what happened after our fight with them."

Arveldir's face was cast in shadow. "They transported us through shadows, I know not how, bringing us to that foul city and chaining us to the walls of its courtyard to be at the mercy of the elements. The Orcs there are fouler than any I have ever fought. They are more corpses than living creatures. We were beaten and starved, forced to watch as they tormented us one by one with whips and brands." He paused and ran his hand over his face. "I saw many Orcs that were more highly ranked, but there was another presence still in that city, one that was not an Orc, but something worse. We never saw it, but we felt it with us always."

"And Neniel?" Legolas' eyes were pleading now.

"She was kept in a separate place, locked in a cell away from the rest of us. I don't know what they did to her there." The elf's voice wavered. "Every day they bought her out to look at us. From high on the battlement she was forced to look down on us in the courtyard as they tortured us. But she did not falter. She looked down on us with no fear on her face, lifting our hearts with kind words and smiles. She would not let them destroy her spirit."

"They were harsh with her, dragging her forcefully and striking her, but she never cried out nor wept. Instead, she laughed. Laughed at all their cruel jibes and horrors. We saw her last two weeks ago before they moved us to that tower, and she watched us leave with a light in her eyes and a song on her lips. Never have I seen one so brave or noble as she, my lord. A maiden of no fear. Without her fair laughter and resolute spirit I doubt any of us would have long lasted that dark place. She has earned our love a hundredfold."

No one spoke for a moment, the Elf's words ringing through the air. Legolas closed his eyes and managed a small smile through his grief. " _Neniel, gerich 'ûn sui raw. Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vín."_

Eldarion's mind was filled then with thoughts of Neniel, remembering the sound of the laughter he had heard in his dreams. That innocent, carefree laughter. It spoke of the bravery and nobility that Arveldir observed, but at odds with what he knew about her. She was terrified, bound by grief and suffering in that dark place. He thought of his dreams of recent nights when her presence had been so much fainter. Her spirit was weakening.

"Soon we shall be in a position to rescue her, Legolas," his father said. "Your reunion will not be much longer. Tell me, Faramir, of this attack. What makes you think it was suspicious?"

Faramir launched into an account of the battle, but Elboron had looked to Eldarion and jerked his head to the side, motioning him to follow. He noticed his father watching them as they left the congregation of kings, princes, lords and ladies of the West but he said nothing as they moved a little way away, further down the hill upon which the king's tents stood.

"I'm so glad you're alright, Elboron," Eldarion said. "I was so worried about you."

"Were you?" Elboron asked, and again Eldarion was surprised at the hint of anger there was in his tone.

"Of course. I saw what was happening and tried to warn you."

Elboron had gone pale. " _How_ did you do that, Eldarion?" he asked. "How can you be in my mind like that when I am in danger?"

"I don't know-"

"I was almost captured, Eldarion," Elboron said, his voice rising. His cheeks had gone pink but he looked determined. "He _had_ me. If not for my father I'd now be sharing Neniel's cell. All because I got distracted in a battle by memories that weren't even my own!"

"Elboron, listen-"

"No, you listen!" he cried, and Eldarion was conscious of a few people on the hill beginning to stare at them. "I'm telling them the truth, Eldarion. We need to tell them now. We're in danger, all of us. They deserve to know. We can't do this on our own anymore."

"You can't!" Eldarion said. "They won't understand. We need to do this together-"

"Together? That's a joke! It's all about you. It's _always_ about you. Precious Prince Eldarion and his faithful sidekick that keeps his mouth shut." Elboron was shouting now, his body trembling as he unleashed the pent-up emotions of the last two months. "No more. I'm telling them."

He started to walk back up the hill where everyone was now looking at them, but Eldarion was seized with blind panic. He grabbed hold of Elboron's arm and tried to pull him back. "No!"

"Let go of me!"

"Stop this!"

They struggled a moment before Elboron beat away his arm and tried to leave. Eldarion seized him again and then suddenly he had twisted fully and struck him hard across the face. Reeling from the blow, he saw Elboron's eyes widen in shock at what he had done. But something now had snapped within Eldarion, his barrage of worry, fear, anger and frustration now released in full force and he no longer saw his friend before him, only an enemy, one he could rage against to ease the fear in his heart. He flew at Elboron, not heeding any of the many people around him and landed his own punch on his jaw, his fist throbbing in pain. Elboron fought back as fiercely, kicking and punching in a way he had never dared in their play fights as boys. In a moment they were on the ground, grabbing at each other, kicking and fighting each other off. Eldarion saw only red before his eyes as he fought as hard as he could through his own pain, determined to pour as much of his own suffering as he could onto this man, landing as many blows as he could on every part he could reach, crying out when he received some in return. He heard people shouting on him but all he could think of was causing as much pain as he could.

Someone strong seized him from behind and dragged him away from Elboron, who himself had been similarly grabbed by a tall figure. He struggled with all his might, half standing half being lifted by the person behind him as he sought to try and get back to the fight. He shook with fury, straining as hard as he could against his captor.

" _Hû úgaun!"_ he cried, glaring across the gap between them, not caring who heard. " _Gen ú-velin!"_

Unfortunately, Elboron's Elvish was almost as good, if not better than his own, and the response was swift.

" _Dôl gín cofn! Mítho orch!"_

" _Gerich thû sui orch!"_

" _Dîn!"_ He heard his father shout, his voice cold with anger. "Such childish insults have no place in the mouths of ones of your station. Be silent!"

Eldarion stopped struggling and breathed deeply, now feeling the pain of those blows and knew they would soon be turning into bruises. It was then he finally noticed that it was his father who had pulled him away from Elboron, and that Faramir had similarly restrained his own son. All those who had been part of his father's counsel were now gathered around, staring in shock at the scene before them. Eldarion was immediately filled with shame.

His father let him go and he moved around to his front and stood before him, tall and glowering, and for the first time in his life Eldarion was afraid of him.

"Explain!"

Eldarion faltered, but Elboron was quicker.

"My lord, we need to tell you-"

"Don't you dare!" Eldarion interrupted furiously. "You swore to keep this secret!"

"Well now I'm unswearing," Elboron countered. His voice was louder than Eldarion had ever heard it before. "All my life I've been keeping silence for you, covering for you, lying for you. Well, I've had enough! It's time you stop being a coward and tell the truth."

" _I'm_ a coward!" Eldarion repeated. "You're the one who's a coward! Trying desperately to act like a Captain of Gondor when you'd rather huddle inside a library away from the fight."

"I'd rather be a scholar than some spoiled prince chasing after glory," Elboron spat. "It's pathetic!"

"Well said by one who cares so little for glory he won't even speak for fear of drawing attention to himself. Who will ever remember _you?_ "

"Enough!"

His father had shouted again and he glared at them both. The watching crowd was silent, looking from one to the other with mouths agape. Éomer and Éowyn stood near Elboron, watching as if they had never seen him before, and the Hobbits had their hands over their mouths. His uncles were looking at him with identical expressions of astonishment.

"For two lords of Gondor to be seen brawling like common drunkards brings shame upon the kingdom and all within it," his father said, voice laced with steel. He looked to his son. "Eldarion Telcontar, tell me now. What is this secret you speak of? Do not lie."

Eldarion hesitated, almost quailing under his father's gaze. He had never looked at him like that before. The thought of telling him now … revealing all of his fears, his doubts and anxieties, the deeply personal nature of what was happening to them … it was shameful. He would be proving himself the unworthiest of sons. A weakling.

"Tell him!" Elboron shouted, eyes hard. "Go on!"

Eldarion looked at him, all trace of anger gone in face of his fear. "I can't," he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't make me."

Elboron's anger also faded, and he blinked, his eyes softer. "It will not change his opinion of you," he urged. " _Estelio enni."_

"Eldarion?" His father was now looking at him more closely. His anger too was gone, replaced by fear as his eyes roamed over his son's face. "Tell me."

"I-" he began, voice quavering. He swallowed. "It's … it's about … about Neniel."

"Neniel?" Legolas had sprung forwards, eyes wide. "What about her?"

But anything Eldarion might have said next was drowned out by the blowing of many horns and the ringing of bells.

"Awake! Awake! We are under attack!"

The call came and everyone immediately reached for their weapons. His father immediately changed from king and father into fearless warrior.

"It appears you were right, Faramir," he said gravely. "That raid was too easy. They have followed us here."

"For what purpose?"

His father's eyes drifted to the two young men, both still breathing heavily and nursing minor wounds.

"Stay in the camp, both of you," he said. "We will resume this later."

And with a flapping of his cloak and a ringing sound as he drew Andúril from its sheath he had run in the direction of the Orcs and the battle-cries that were already beginning. Soon the others had followed, departing to lead their own men against the enemy, leaving Eldarion and Elboron alone at the foot of the hill, surrounded by the empty tents of the commanders.

Eldarion stared at his feet, unable to meet his friend's eyes. His fists were aching and he felt bruises erupting all over his body. His hands shook.

Elboron said nothing either. The sound of his breathing was loud in the stillness around them, the sounds of battle far off. Neither was willing to break the silence.

 _Coward_ , Elboron had called him, and Eldarion miserably admitted it to be true. No fear in battle had he, but in matters that really counted, he had allowed his fears to overcome him. He was ashamed of himself.

" _Goheno nin_ ," Eldarion burst out, unable to bear it. _Forgive me._

" _Ú-moe edaved!,"_ came the response, and Eldarion's head snapped up, hardly daring to believe it.

"You mean it?" he asked, and when the nod came he exclaimed, "But I said such cruel things to you."

"Not more cruel than what I said to you."

"But you were right," Eldarion said, running his hands through his hair. "Everything you said was right. I should have told him."

"We'll soon fix that. Everything will be put right," Elboron said, smiling. "Though I must admit, I like it when you admit you're wrong."

Eldarion laughed. "Don't get used to it."

Elboron joined him, and for a moment they were once again the carefree youths of only a few months ago. But that illusion was soon shattered.

A creeping cold and terrible stench had overcome them. Out of the shadows of the tents around them evil faces were ogling them, foul mouths stretched wide to reveal rotten, yellow fangs and black tongues. Immediately the two men drew their swords and turned back to back to fight their enemy, but it was of no use. There were at least fifty Orcs to their two blades.

Eldarion's heart went cold. _This is the end._

* * *

The Orcs vanished as soon as the first light of day crept over the ruins of Osgiliath and fell upon the encampment, as they always did. Aragorn was left with a terrible sense of misgiving as they turned into smoke and fell into to wind. One hundred Orcs against an army of thousands? What could have been their aim?

Faramir stood by his side, and he too looked troubled. The battle had lasted barely fifteen minutes. Why would Orcs attack in so few numbers for so short a time?

As he and his Council once more entered the camp to the cheers of their army his worry only increased. He was missing something. Some oversight on his part. His entire being was screaming at him to do something.

As the troop reached the circle of tents of the commanders he felt a great horror fill him. He knew what had happened.

"King Elessar! King Elessar!" a young soldier was screaming as he ran towards him. "It's the Lords Eldarion and Elboron. They've been taken!"

Aragorn felt his body turn to ice. It seemed to him then that he had been standing upon a great precipice and how he was falling, down and down into an endless Void.

He turned to Faramir whose face had gone slack with fear. "That rescue did have a purpose," he said faintly. "It made sure that both of them were in the same place at the same time."

Faramir said nothing, and instead fell to his knees. Aragorn felt like joining him. He caught Legolas' eye and for the first time truly understood what he had been going through.

He did not think he could survive this pain.

* * *

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Istonon- Teacher**

 **Tiro! - Look out!**

 **Neniel, gerich 'ûn sui raw. Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vín- Neniel, you have the heart of a lion. Nothing will stop the weeping of my heart until our reunion.**

 **Hû úgaun! Gen ú-velin!- Cowardly dog! I hate you!**

 **Dôl gín cofn! Mítho orch!- Your head is empty! Go kiss an Orc!**

 **Gerich thû sui orch- You smell like an Orc!**

 **Dîn!- Silence!**

 **Estelio enni- Trust me**

 **Goheno nin- Forgive me**

 **Ú-moe edaved!- It is not necessary to forgive**

 **Name Translations (OCs):**

 **Arveldir- Royal Friend (Sindarin)**


	10. Chapter 9- An Enemy Revealed

**A/N: Thank you so much to anyone who takes the time to read this! I'm incredibly grateful, and hope you enjoy!**

* * *

An Enemy Revealed

The king's tent was louder than the rowdiest of nights at the Prancing Pony Inn at Bree. Panic reigned supreme among the allies of the West. A great table had been set up in the centre, but no one sat around it, all on their feet and talking over one another, demanding action, arguing over strategy, despairing and lamenting the turn of events. Aragon sat numb in his chair watching the proceedings as if from far away. He took no part in the discussion, nor tried to bring calm. He could barely trust himself to speak.

Only one other was as silent as he. Éowyn sat near him staring into the tent wall before her, looking as pale and cold as she had when first he had beheld her at Edoras. She had not wept, but perhaps her heart was too grieved for that. He knew his own was. Her husband was among the most vocal of the group, now engaged in argument with Imrahil about what action they should now take. Angry he looked, but his voice was tinged with fear and despair.

The image of Eldarion's face was burned into his mind. The way he had beheld him before he had been taken, so full of fear, so unlike the man he had been only a short while ago. Why had he not done something about it? Eldarion had been troubled of late, he had seen it but done nothing, hoping things would work themselves out. He had failed him as a father. How could he have been so blind?

That this secret of theirs was linked to their disappearance, he had no doubt. He should have been there for him. How could he have led his son to believe that he could not confide in him? Make him afraid to tell him what was wrong? Was he so unapproachable? _I can't,_ he'd said. _Don't make me._ Had he been too distant with him? He would be better in future. If he ever returned.

Aragorn sat up straighter, feeling returning in full force to his body. _He will return. I will make sure of it._

"Enough of this," he said. His voice was quiet, but the room went silent immediately. They turned to look at him, and the look they gave him pained him. They trusted him to get them through this. To know what to do. But he knew nothing. He had never trusted his own decisions less than he did now. More than ever he wished Gandalf were here. His guidance was what he needed.

But Gandalf was not here, so he had to make do with his own wisdom. Three young lives and the fate of the West depended on it.

"If we wish to save our children, we must be calm and rational," Aragorn said, looking particularly at Legolas, Éowyn and Faramir. "Our panicking will not serve them. I know it is difficult, but they need us to be strong for their sakes."

The other parents nodded, their faces pale but determined. Aragorn turned to look to the others and began to speak, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"We will go after these Orcs," he said, "and we will get them back. They cannot be tracked but we know where they must have gone."

"Minas Morgul," Faramir said, swallowing. "Would that I had destroyed that foul place when I had the chance."

"Our army will attack as planned," Aragorn said. "We are ready for siege, but it will not be easy. We cannot linger in that place too long. And our enemies may decide to use their captives as insurance against us. The attempt shall be made in any case. We will not leave them there to rot."

"Aye, we will all be with you," Gimli said, gripping his axe. "It's time that foul place is wiped from the earth."

"It is not only their death by execution during siege we must worry about," Elladan said. "The Enemy wants them, and for a purpose more than just a blow to our morale. We must consider this. They are important, or so much time would not have been spent in capturing them. I fear what this is."

"It has to do with this secret they've been keeping," Faramir said, pacing around the tent. "It must be."

"The secret that is connected to Neniel," Legolas said. He gripped his arm tightly. "What could they have to do with her? They've never even met."

"Something connects all three," Aragorn agreed. "But what do they all have in common?"

No one spoke for a moment.

"They are all children of those who fought against Sauron?" Merry suggested. "Or against the Nazgûl, who used to live in the Morgul Vale. You all fought them at one point."

"Queen Arwen did not, neither did Neniel's mother. And many others besides have been born to soldiers of those wars. Your own children among them."

"They're all young," was Éomer's suggestion.

"So are hundreds of others."

"They're all of noble blood?"

"Again, it hardly marks them out. Why did they not come after Prince Imrahil's children? Lothíriel or her brothers, or any of the older nobles across Gondor and Rohan?"

"What about a bond of fellowship?" Pippin asked. "Eldarion and Elboron are close (or used to be at least before they started knocking lumps out of each other), and you and Legolas are close. The families are interconnected. They're all linked to the Fellowship of the Ring; son, daughter and nephew of its members."

"But what of your own children?" Aragorn asked him. "Sam's, Merry's? They have not been touched. Elanor is safe in Minas Tirith and as far as I am aware no Orcs have been seen near the Shire."

"Elvish blood?" asked Elrohir. "Elboron may not have an Elf for a parent, but he is of the Men of Númenor who have long been connected to our own race, and there is rumour his grandmother's family in Dol Amroth are of Elven descent"

"Common descent perhaps then," said Legolas. "Eldarion is descended from the Elves of Doriath, as is Neniel. Perhaps Elboron too is a descendent though his Númenorean forebears."

"But this is all conjecture," Captain Bergil said. "Can such distant kinship really be a factor?"

"We cannot rule anything out," Aragorn said heavily, fingers pressed together beneath his chin. "We must consider everything."

"They're all heirs." Éowyn had spoken for the first time. She stood up slowly. "All of them are heirs to kingdoms."

"Heirs?" Gimli said. "They're all royal, you mean?"

"Eldarion is heir to Gondor and Arnor," Aragorn said, piecing it together in his mind. "Heir to the Reunited Kingdom.

"And Neniel is heir both to the crown of Mirkwood and to the realm of Rhûn," Legolas said.

"The Sea of Rhûn?" Éomer looked confused. "I had not heard that there was an Elven kingdom there."

At this, Legolas and the recently freed Arveldir exchanged glances. "The kingdom is a secretive one," Legolas explained. "They rarely play host to any outsiders. There was an ancient grievance between the Water Elves of Rhûn and the other realms and they retreated entirely from the world. Only within the few decades did relations begin to ease when I married the daughter of their king, Nenwë, and Neniel was born."

"Even still our relations are strained," Arveldir said. "They do not engage readily with us in dialogue, especially since the death of Princess Nenwen in a spider-attack. Princess Neniel has been the liaison between the two kingdoms."

Aragorn caught the flash of pain in Legolas' eyes when his wife was mentioned. He knew all of this, having been informed of it all at the time by Legolas himself when he sought comfort in his grief. He had never met any of the Water Elves, and until Legolas had informed him otherwise had believed them to be a mythic folk belonging only to the old tales he had heard as a youth in the House of Elrond. To lose both wife and daughter …

"But this does not hold true with regards to Elboron," Faramir said, shaking his head. "Prince I am in title, but my domain is only a province granted to me by another. It is a lordship only. I am no king."

"But I am," Éomer said. He looked towards his sister and sighed heavily as he understood what she had been referring to. "I have no children of my own yet. As it stands, Elboron is my only heir."

"Oh!" Gimli suddenly exclaimed, causing everyone to jump in the air. "Prince Bain!"

"Who?"

"He is the son of King Bard II in Dale," Gimli said, now practically hopping from foot to foot. "I never thought of him before now. All those attacks on Dale were focused around the Great House … they were trying to reach him!"

"But Prince Bain is only eight years old," Arveldir said. "He is no warrior or diplomat like the others, and Dale is a small and relatively insignificant kingdom. Why would they want him?"

Aragorn's mind was racing. It all appeared to fit.

"Heirs to Gondor, Arnor, Mirkwood, Rhûn, Rohan and Dale," he listed. "Noble is their lineage, but what use could that be to the enemy? Legolas too is heir to a throne, why is he not targeted? Why not the heirs to the lordships of Dol Amroth, Lossarnach or the others who are also of royal blood? Why only these four royals?"

"We must bring them back," Éomer said, "before the Enemy can make use of whatever it wants with them."

"Something binds them in a way I do not understand," Faramir said. "Something that has affected their behaviour. Both our sons were affected by the presence of the Orcs more than the others remember? When we retuned this evening, Eldarion seemed to know that Elboron had almost been taken. And this fight between them … never could I have imagined them to behave in such a way."

"Nor I," Aragorn agreed, remembering the foreign look on Eldarion's face when he had turned his fists on his dearest friend. "It was as if we did not know them." A new thought struck him. "Remember in our Council in Minas Tirith? When Gimli brought the news about Dale, Elboron tried to speak to me, but Eldarion prevented him."

"You think he knew something?"

"Perhaps, but what?" asked Faramir. He frowned. "Another thing I observed that day. Eldarion had been hurt in the ankle the previous evening, and when Elboron woke up that morning, he too had pain there, though he had no injury."

"That first day fighting the Orcs," said Bergil, "Eldarion collapsed with pain in his side, and Lord Elboron also felt it. Neither of them had been harmed."

"When was this?" Arveldir asked sharply.

Bergil paused while he counted up the days and then told him. Arveldir's eyes were filled with wonder.

"That was the day we were captured by the Orcs," he said. "The leader of the host stabbed Neniel in the side with a poisoned dart in the exact place you showed me."

"Poison," Aragorn said breathing out as his heart began to race. "That was what his malady appeared to me at the time, but without evidence of a wound I dismissed it. It was _her_ wound he was sharing."

"And the fight in Ithilien," Éowyn said, her voice growing agitated. "Elboron was injured on the arm, but Eldarion also was affected. They were both made unconscious despite the wound not being serious."

"Be gone, echoing voice, be gone," Aragorn recited, a growing horror in his chest. "That is what he said."

"What are you saying, Aragorn?" Éomer asked, voice hard. "They're sharing their thoughts? Their injuries?"

"I have never heard of such a thing," Elrohir said, "not from any of my kin, and they are counted amongst the wisest in Arda."

"I have no explanations," Aragorn said. "And I think torturing ourselves with these thoughts will not do us any good. We must focus our attention on rescuing them from Minas Morgul before any harm can befall them. All else can wait until they are safely back with us. And we _will_ get them back."

All those gathered there seem to take heart at his words, a new determined fervour was shining in their faces. Aragorn held his resolve as he looked upon them. This was no time for him to be engaged in self-doubt, tormenting himself with what-ifs. His friends were depending on him to be strong, be the king he was born to be. The lives of Eldarion, Elboron and Neniel were resting with him, perhaps even this boy in Dale he had never set eyes upon was counting on him.

He would not fail them.

* * *

Eldarion looked upon the city before him with a dim horror. Tales he had heard of this place could not have prepared him for the reality. He remembered the words of Sam at the Council: " _The very stones themselves are full of foul, rotten death and decay. The air is as unwholesome as you can imagine and there's nowt there but darkness and shadow"._ He had spoken truly, but not enough to convey what it really was. The Morgul Vale was everything he had heard and worse.

He was not permitted much time to observe before he felt a blow across the back of his head. The Orc behind him grunted at him to continue on, and he did so, every step taking him deeper into darkness. Elboron was at his side, hands bound as his were, stumbling on with weariness. The Orcs, through whatever foul magic it was they possessed had transported them to the beginning of the valley just as the sun was rising. Once they had entered, the shadow had crossed over the sun and the Orcs walked freely, pushing their prisoners on unrelentingly until now they were in full view of the city. Already he could feel the cold evil of that place entering into his very bones. He could see Elboron's face, sallow in the dull light, a shadow in his eyes, and knew he must look the same. He tried to reach out to him, to whisper words of encouragement, though he hardly knew what he could say.

A sharp pain crossed his back and he cried out as he felt the sting of a whip. The Orc who had dealt the blow came into view and snarled at him, gesturing for him to look ahead, moving him away from his friend. The Orcs had said nothing to them, beat them if they tried to speak to them or each other. He had expected them to gloat over them, bait them with cruel insults, but they had remained silent, appearing as dumb as animals. Yet he knew they could speak.

He looked down at the ground before him as the Orcs drove him relentlessly onwards. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his mind, desperately trying to access that link that existed between himself and Elboron, to place words in his mind. But he knew it to be fruitless. The few times they had succeeded in such an aim they had both been rested, relaxed and calm and in a state of deep meditation, not surrounded by Orcs on a path to a place of darkness in fear for their lives.

All too soon, they were before the gates to the city, high and thick they were, lit by a cold gleam that spoke of corpses. For a moment they stood there, and Eldarion began to wildly hope that the gates would not open and they would simply turn around and leave. But then the great gates began to move, swinging inward, curiously silent on their hinges with no one in sight seeming to have operated them. The Orc behind gave him a sharp kick in the back and he once again found his feet and entered the City of the Dead.

He was in a large courtyard ringed by tall battlements with many small windows, black slits like the eyes of a beast looking down upon it. Shackles lined the walls of the courtyard and Eldarion was reminded of Arveldir's tale of being confined here. The place was a cold as the grave, a pale green light the only sickly illumination. He looked around, searching for some similarity to his own home; after all, had not this city once been of Gondor, twin to Minas Tirith? Any such resemblances there might once have been were washed away now however, replaced with a lingering menace which seem to live in the earth itself.

The Orcs barked orders to each other in a foul tongue he did not recognise, it was not the Black Speech he had once studied, and he and Elboron were placed side by side and thrust to their knees. Two Orcs stood behind them, each with a long knife at their throats, the others gathering around in a semi-circle. His heart raced as he felt the cool blade against his skin. Surely they had not been sought out so carefully and then dragged all this way to be executed upon arrival?

The Orcs' attention however did not seem to be upon them. All were staring straight ahead at a black door in the wall in front of them still as statues. Eldarion turned his attention there also, a cold dread in the pit of his stomach. He could feel Elboron trembling at his side. He knew he did not want that door opened.

Gradually, a horrific stench came upon him, causing him to choke with the intensity of it. Like that smell of the Orcs he had too easily become accustomed to, it spoke of death and decay, as a pile of a thousand corpses rotting at once. His entire body was filled with revulsion.

The door was open, and from within the darkness came a figure wreathed in shadow, the source of the stench. Eldarion found himself at first too overcome by horror to look upon it, but as it drew nearer, he felt his courage grow. He heard his father's voice in his head: _Courage comes only to those who need it the most. Listen to it, trust it, and it will not fail you._

Eldarion raised his eyes to the thing that stood before him, quelling the fear in his heart. He was the son of Aragorn, King Elessar, a child of the Eldar and of Númenor. He would not be afraid. He had allowed himself too much fear already of late. Despite this new resolve however, he was hard pressed to keep to it when he beheld what stood before him.

The creature was tall and may once have been a strong and striking figure, but now looked wasted and corrupt. Its flesh shone with a cold light as the Orcs' did, and it appeared as if were rotting before his eyes. It was clad in armour that might have been fair when first wrought, of fine craftsmanship and quality, now rusted and broken. But it was the face which drew the most hate, the most repugnance. Its eyes were as an abyss, black and bottomless, a loathsome gleam therein that made his heart recoil. Angular features and long shining dark hair might have made it handsome, if handsome this creature had ever been. The ears, peeping out from those dark tresses were pointed. With a sense of nausea, Eldarion met this creature's eyes. Like the Orcs behind him, this creature was not alive, but a living corpse composed of shadow. But it was not a Shadow Orc.

It was a Shadow Elf.

The Elf surveyed the two young men before him, head tilted on one side, a growing smile on its lips. It was the smile of one who took pleasure in only the cruel and hateful.

"And what is it that you have brought me?" the Elf spoke as if to himself, voice deep and filled with malice. Eldarion stared at him in wonder. The language was indeed Sindarin, but not the Elvish he had ever spoken with his parents. A curious accent tinged those words with unfamiliarity, the pronunciations distorted and warped. Memory came back to him then of hours at his studies in the library of Minas Tirth, Elboron by his side as their tutor lectured them on the days of ages gone past. This dialect seemed to fit with those stories, almost as if the Elf had walked straight off the page to threaten them with the words it contained.

The Orc behind him chuckled, and then to his surprise answered in the same tongue, its voice sounding harsh on the fair words.

"You see before you the heirs of Gondor, Arnor and Rohan, my lord," it said, a guttural laugh in its throat. "Caught like rats in a trap."

The Elf's eyes seemed to flash in triumph.

Eldarion subconsciously inched closer to Elboron, who had now gone very still at his side. The Elf regarded them silently a few moments until Eldarion could bear it no more.

"Well? What do you want with us?" he demanded more bravely than he felt. "Answer me, you foul creature."

The Elf sneered and then laughed fully, the sound echoing around the dark courtyard. "You are in no position to make demands, young prince," he said. "You are here to be of use to me, that is all."

The Elf stepped closer to him to examine his face, and Eldarion struggled not to choke at the stench.

"Yes," the Elf murmured. "I see it now. The resemblance is faint, but the blood is strong. Good, that will serve our purpose well."

"What resemblance?" Eldarion asked, unnerved by the insinuation. What had this Elf to do with him?

"Why to your forebears of course," the Elf said. "The line of your mother and father both stretch back to the Elves of Beleriand. And of those I have more than a passing acquaintance. Of Lúthien and Beren in particular. Part of her is in your face, courtesy of your mother no doubt. The mortal part of you does not fully drown it out."

Eldarion's mind reeled. This Elf was of the First Age, and none who had lived in that time was now present in Middle-Earth, save the Ents of Fangorn and a bare handful of Elves in Mirkwood. The Elf before him was ancient indeed. That at least explained the antiquated Sindarin.

The Elf had now passed his attention to Elboron, who stiffened, but met the eyes of the Elf with a coolness that belied the terror Eldarion knew him to be experiencing through their mind link which was now beginning to stretch open. The Elf gave him similar examination.

"Of you there is a far lesser degree of nobility," he said, lingering by him. "Royal blood is within you, but distant on the side of your father, and of a lesser pedigree through your mother. What is Rohan but a young kingdom of inferior Men? Still, royal it is, and so every drop is precious."

Elboron's brow creased in a frown. He was thinking rapidly, his mind working out what Eldarion's was too slow to comprehend.

"Have you returned from the Halls of Mandos?" he asked his words carefully chosen and spoken with far greater accuracy than Eldarion's attempt at ancient Sindarin. Then he blinked. "Or did you not go at all?"

The Elf's face darkened, and with a rapidity quicker than Eldarion could follow he had whipped out his hand and struck Elboron hard about the face, sending him crashing into the Orc behind. Eldarion made to go to him, but was pulled back by his own captor, and the knife pressed ever deeper into his flesh. When Elboron had resumed his kneeling position, it was to reveal a mouth filled with blood and a harsh mark on the side of his jaw which would soon surely darken to a bruise. He did not look fazed however and stared back at the Elf as though he had won a victory.

"Do not think that because your blood is precious I will not hesitate to spill it," the Elf spat, black eyes now glittering with malice. "It can be renewed in time. Do not try me, Man. I have faced mightier foes than you, than any of those weaklings in Mandos. You will not find me wanting."

Elboron said nothing to this, and the Elf turned back to Eldarion, now seemingly as calm as before.

"Your blood will be useful," he said, eyes flicking between the two. "My brother will be pleased."

Eldarion's sank even lower. There was another such as he?

"Take them to the dungeon," the Elf said to the two Orcs holding them. "I want preparations made immediately for their transfer."

"I thought we were waiting for the prince brat in Dale, my lord?"

"He will follow," the Elf said shortly. "We have three of the four, and of the four the two with the strongest blood. But now it is time for my brother's plan to be laid in motion. He can make a beginning at last."

The Elf seemed to disregard them then, and the Orcs behind began to drag them off towards another low door in the courtyard wall.

"And what of you?" Eldarion called, one last attempt to try and learn something more. "You know all about us, but who are you that thinks he can kidnap three royals at his whim? Name yourself, coward!"

The Elf stopped and turned to him, a cruel smile slowly spreading across his face. "I am Curufin."

The next moment he and Elboron were bundled through the dark door and driven down a long corridor. A rattling of keys and then they both were thrown inside a small cell, lit only by the same unearthly gleam that seemed to permeate this city. The door was locked behind them.

Eldarion leapt from the ground where the Orcs had thrown him and immediately tested the door for weakness or fault, before conducting the same tests around the small cell, checking every stone, every nook, trying the bars at the narrow window. He noticed painfully that this cell was near identical to the one he had been seeing in his dreams. Was Neniel here with them in the next cell over? He tried to sense her with his mind but came up short. He sent her from his mind with impatience; he had to stay focused if he were to figure out an escape, a plan of action. It was all that could save either of them. He turned his thoughts to the Elf.

"Curufin, Curufin …" he mused aloud, ceasing his examination. "I have heard that name before …"

Elboron turned to him, and even in the dim light Eldarion could see that he rolled his eyes as he had often done during their lessons when Eldarion ill remembered some fact. The sight was almost cheering. "Of course you have, you fool. Do you not know your history? Your own _family_ history?"

"Family?" Eldarion frowned. "He is not my family, is he?"

"Distantly, yes. He is cousin to your great-grandmother, Galadriel."

Eldarion stared. "What? I am related to that … that _thing?"_

Elboron paused. "I am not certain," he said, biting his lip. "That is … there was a Curufin who lived in the First Age. But he died in the sacking of Doriath."

Words and phrases came back to him then, and Eldarion remember snatches of songs once sung to him by his mother with a sad, mournful voice. Tales of the First Age, which before now had never held his interest. Tales of Elves had always seemed so irrelevant when so many had passed over the Sea; they were hardly about to help him become a great king, greater than his father, or perform many great acts of valour. It was his more recent forebears of the Third Age he had to outdo. Elboron on the other hand was a lover of all tales and songs and consumed them greedily whenever he could, later retelling them and singing them back to Eldarion with much gusto, though only when he was sure no one else would hear him. It was no surprise he had made a connection Eldarion had not.

"You mean the Curufin who was one of the sons of Fëanor?" he asked, straining his memory. "The Kinslayers?"

"Exactly."

Eldarion resumed his pacing of the cell, cold dread writhing inside of him like snakes. "He's dead," he said. "My ancestor killed him and died in the task. All the sons of Fëanor were killed or driven mad thousands of years ago. How can he be here?"

"I don't know," Elboron said, sliding down against the wall until he came to rest on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. "He's dead … but then again, the Elf who stood before us did not appear alive. That is why I questioned him about Mandos."

Eldarion came to sit by his side. "You think he has returned from the dead?" he asked incredulously.

"I've suspected something similar about these Orcs for a while," Elboron said. "They are not alive, they cannot be. There are too many of them, and I could swear that some of the Orcs I slay are back again to fight in the next battle. They are made of shadows, these Orcs, and resemble the Orcs from that age. Orcs and other foul creatures do not go to the Halls of Mandos after death, but stay in shadows. Something has called them forth."

"Curufin?"

"Perhaps. If he never went to Mandos after death he may have lingered in Middle Earth as a spirit, roaming its lands as a spectre, like the Barrow-Wights of the north kingdom. Now that spirit has a form, abhorrent and corrupt."

Eldarion pondered all of this. He felt rather sick. To return from the dead … only two had ever accomplished it: his own forebears, Beren and Lúthien, and then only with the blessing of Mandos. How could this Elf be alive? But then, was he alive? He had no proper body to be sure. He was little more than a living corpse.

"Royal blood," he said quietly. "Why on earth does he want royal blood?"

"I have no idea," Elboron said. "But things now finally make sense. Neniel's kidnapping, the visions I've had of Dale … the prince there must be the person whose mind I have seen … as well as our own kidnapping. I had not made such a link before. I do not think of myself as royal."

"Well, unless your uncle Éomer gets a move on and finally fathers a child, you will be King of Rohan someday," Eldarion said, and he saw Elboron's eyes go wide. He almost laughed; his friend had only ever wished for a quiet life of little renown and being King was something he would be sure to detest.

"Can it be they want our kingdoms?"

"For what purpose?"

"To control?" Eldarion thought hard. "Did Curufin not once try to take control of the Kingdom of Nargothrond?"

"Yes, with his brother Celegorm."

"Is he then the brother he referred to?"

"I hope not." Elboron shuddered. "The two of them committed many foul deeds together. But then any of Curufin's brothers would be bad news for us; none of them were particularly good."

"There can indeed be no good reason for why they would want our blood."

"I still cannot figure out what this link has to do with anything." Elboron said. "Is it this link that they want? Or did the link arise independently? Four royals … linked by their minds. But what could two Elves from the First Age want with that?"

Eldarion had no answer. They sat in silence a while, listening to the trickle of some foul water somewhere, feeling the cold from the stones behind them chill their insides. A melliferous evil seemed to hang in the air, filing their lungs and sending despair through their bodies.

"Come on," Eldarion said, feeling the foulness of Morgul settle around him and wishing to distract himself. He turned to face Elboron and reached for his hands, both still bound tightly. "Let us try to use that link now as we did in Minas Tirith. If Neniel is here and close by, we need to know. I am determined to escape from here, and we need to know where she is."

Elboron raised an eyebrow as his hands met the prince's. "Your optimism knows no bounds."

"If two Halflings can enter Morgul, pass the Hidden Stairs and then escape the Tower of Cirith Ungol all while under the gaze of Sauron, we can get out of here," Eldarion said forcefully. "Now come."

He closed his eyes, and the two of them sat together long, cross legged on the floor, relaxing their minds, trying to access those threads of consciousness that had been filtering through their dreams and waking thoughts the last two months. But they were weaker than ever, and Eldarion began to despair. The strong lifeforce that had been his constant companion was fading, no laughter now sounded along their combined thoughts.

"Do you sense her?"

"Yes," Eldarion smiled. "She is here, and not far. She still fights the shadow."

"I can feel her too. She grows weak."

"All the more reason to escape quickly then," Eldarion said, opening his eyes. "None of us will long survive here."

* * *

 **Name Translations (OCs):**

 **Nenwen: Water Lady (Quenya)**

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you have the time, please feel free to leave a review to tell me what you think! Even a couple of words is fine :)**

 **Also, I'm now on Tumblr as idriltelcontar, so feel free to follow me there if you'd like! I will be posting some moodboards for this fic and some of my others as well as some original content.**

 **Till next time!**


	11. Chapter 10- A Place of Death

A Place of Death

The approach to the Morgul Vale had been quicker than any army Aragorn had ever seen, yet still it seemed painfully slow. All day they had marched; thousands of men, horses and siege machinery passed swiftly through the wilds of Ithilien before halting at the Crossroads. Here they prepared camp, setting up guards on the perimeter in readiness for the falling dusk; none wished to risk another attack by nightfall. Aragorn suspected however that they were safe from any Orcs. They had their prize after all.

He remained oblivious to all that was happening around him, standing there at the crossing, gazing up at the figure graven in stone before him. An ancestor of old he believed, but he knew not which. He remembered well when he had last stood here, twenty-five years ago on the approach to the Black Gate. Back then he had ordered that the head of the figure, cast down on the ground by Orcs and replaced with a foul mockery, be once again raised to its position, the stone scrubbed clean of their vile scribblings in red paint. His quest had seemed to be approaching its doom; few of them had truly expected to return from that marching, trusting everything to Frodo and Sam, hoping against hope that their distraction would enable them to fulfil their quest even if at the cost of their own lives. Now again his mission seemed impossible.

He felt a presence at his side and looked down to see Sam standing there, peering up at the ancient figure.

"Hardly recognise this place now," he said, looking around. "All's been repaired good and proper since Mr Frodo and I passed through here. As it should be."

"I did not know you had come this way."

"Gollum brought us," Sam said, scowling at the memory. "We didn't stay long. Just to see the great king with his head all knocked off."

"That must have been a sight to dampen even your spirits, Sam," Aragorn said sadly. "Such foulness in a once fair country."

"Actually no," Sam said, frowning as he thought hard. "It wasn't so bad. The king's head was on the ground all right, but nature had crowned it with flowers you see. And, I don't know, it gave me hope almost. Such beauty even where evil had tried to destroy. I thought to myself, this thing will pass, all this despair and darkness, and things will grow again and be fair. Perhaps it was a foolish hope of a foolish Hobbit that spent more time with his flowers than with his book-learning, but it cheered me. And Mr Frodo too. The last smile we had for a while at least. And all did end up well in the end."

Sam turned now to fully face him, a glint in his eye. "And this will too, I reckon," he said fervently. "Nothing is without hope. Not then, and not now. You'll see your boy again, Strider, and so will Captain Faramir and the rest. If I have anything to say about it that is."

Despite the weariness and despair he felt, a small smile found its way to Aragorn's lips. He bent down and placed his hands on the Hobbit's shoulders. "No wonder the Shire keeps electing you as Mayor, Sam," he said. "The wisest of Hobbits, the most steadfast, the most cheerful of your race. The day you were appointed to my council was a happy day for Gondor. Never change, my friend."

Sam blushed furiously and muttered under his breath something humbling and dismissive. With a small bow he hurried off to join Merry and Pippin in the camp, still embarrassed. Aragorn watched him fondly for a moment. Gandalf had never been wrong yet about the remarkableness of Hobbits. They were a race to be envied, admired and respected all at once.

As he saw Sam's smile, he thought of what that Hobbit had been through not too far from this very spot. He had passed through the Morgul Vale and survived. Not many could boast of that feat. Now his son and the children of his closest friends were faced with that same trial. He prayed to the Valar they could be as strong.

A figure was standing close by him, looking along the road towards the city, hooded and cloaked. He saw from its stance and height it could only be an Elf, and he knew which one.

"You should rest," Aragorn said as he approached. Legolas continued staring straight ahead, unblinking.

"I can find no rest here."

"Neniel will need you strong."

"Neniel needs me to be with her _now,_ " Legolas said, his voice thick. He breathed heavily. "We cannot linger here."

"Approaching by nightfall is folly," Aragorn countered, though he understood only too well the Elf's feelings. "We have to reassure ourselves that the children are too precious to the Enemy to be harmed as yet."

"You do not understand, Aragorn," Legolas said. "Neniel has been there two months. What has become of her in that time? Elves cannot survive in such darkness unscathed." He broke off, eyes closed. "I cannot lose her, _mellon nín_ ," he continued faintly. "Not the way I lost her mother."

"You never told me what became of Nenwen," Aragorn broached softly. "Barely had I received notice of your daughter's birth than I heard of her mother's death. You never mentioned anything of either of them on your trips to my court at Annúminas. I cannot imagine the grief you endured."

"It was almost too much to bear," Legolas said heavily. He clutched his arms around his body. "Nenwen and I had met at Erebor not long after the War of the Ring; it was the only kingdom the Water Elves traded with. Her father was against the match, but we were determined. She came to live in Mirkwood but I do not believe she was truly happy. She longed for the water and could find no peace under trees. She was flighty by nature, running off into the trees in search of streams and pools, spending hours by their waters. She would not be confined, nor would I attempt it. Neniel is much like her."

He paused for a moment. "It was on one of these trips that she and her maidens were attacked by the last remaining spiders in the southern part of Mirkwood. It was so soon after Sauron's fall; my father's men had still not cleared the forest entirely of their filth. Neniel was but a few months old."

"I am sorry," Aragorn said, casting his eyes downward. "To lose her so soon … it was a cruel fate."

"It was Neniel alone that stopped me from fading entirely in grief," Legolas continued, eyes filled with tears. "She alone brought me joy. But I have been unable to protect her, as I could not protect her mother. She does not think, too naive and innocent for this world, extremely young in her thoughts. She knows nothing of the grief of the world, she has been sheltered too much. When word of Orcs came, she did not fully understand their evil and ran after us, wanting to help. Perhaps I was wrong to keep her in blissful ignorance. I should have prepared her more."

"None of us expected such evil to arise again in our lifetimes," Aragorn said. "We fought so that our children would not have to be aware of such evil." He thought a moment. "I understand you fully, for I too have been at fault. Eldarion also is often thoughtless. He seeks glory and recognition in life, wishing to make a name for himself. He does not understand the true cost of war; how can he when he has never known it in his lifetime? This makes him reckless, and that is now perhaps why he … why he thought he could handle his predicament on his own instead of confiding in me. He is full of pride and often used it to override others, even his dearest friend."

He was silent a moment. "We cannot blame ourselves for raising our children in hopes of a better future. We fought a war to end wars. It is no bad thing our children were ill prepared for the reality of war."

"It is now," Legolas said darkly. "They now are defenceless against this shadow."

"Not defenceless." Aragorn turned to his friend. "Eldarion and Elboron have little experience in war, but the last few weeks have shown them to be courageous and strong. Ill prepared though they be, they have that capacity within them for greatness. And your daughter will have it too. She has already demonstrated her resilience and strength before her people. We must have faith in them."

Legolas hung his head and his shoulders shook. "Faith," he agreed finally. "Faith in them, and faith in you, _mellon nín_. If anyone can deliver them, it is you."

Aragorn turned back to the statue. _And I must have faith in myself_ , he thought. Tomorrow they would approach the city. The siege would begin.

* * *

Elboron could hear the sound of the army approaching long before the Orcs around them made any move against it. His heart lifted at the sound of what could be his rescue, but then fell again as he beheld the strength of the enemy now garrisoned in the city. How could their meagre army fight against an army of shadows?

After hours in that darkened cell with Eldarion desperately trying to perfect their link, seeking out Neniel, they had begun to make progress. They conversed with their minds, though it cost them great energy to do so. Neniel remained silent however, as a result of their inexperience or her own weakness they could not be sure. Her presence was still there lingering at the back of their minds, dull, but still light yet. They had begun to try and replicate the 'magic' they had used once before in hopes of using it to escape when the call of the Orcs had finally come, now roused into action by the closeness of the army. They had been dragged from their cell and their armour stripped before being deposited in the courtyard, confined by the same shackles that had bound the Elves of Mirkwood. Orcs hurried across the courtyard before them, gathering supplies of armour and weapons in great wagons. He saw no food being gathered, though that did not surprise him; living corpses would have no need of nutrition he supposed. It appeared as if the Orcs were preparing for evacuation.

"What do you think-" Elboron began in a whisper to Eldarion, but the Orc standing guard jabbed him viciously in the side with the hilt of its sword, almost winding him. Pain lanced along his ribs, that in addition to the severe blow to the jaw from the Elf caused him to stay silent a few moments. He knew his face had erupted in one huge bruise on one side, a cut trailing down one cheek. Now he suspected he had a cracked rib.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the pain and concentrated on his link with Eldarion, trying to clear his mind of thought. The link grew stronger, and soon he was aware of Eldarion's voice inside his mind.

" _Are you alright?"_

Elboron opened his eyes and looked to the side and nodded. Eldarion slumped in his shackles with relief.

" _As I was saying,"_ Elboron continued, effort in every word. " _What do you think they're up to?"_

" _My father's army must be close, they're moving us_ ," Eldarion said, watching the hustle and bustle before them. " _Curufin said we were all to be transferred, didn't he?"_

" _But to where? There is no other road out of this valley."_

Eldarion's face went dark. " _There is one."_

Elboron swallowed hard as a jolt of terror went through him. He momentarily lost the link with Eldarion, and when restored, hesitatingly spoke again.

" _You can't mean they're taking us to Mordor? By Cirith Ungol?"_

" _Must be,"_ Eldarion said. " _There was once a passage that linked Minas Morgul to the Tower of Cirith Ungol, one which joins up with the pass after the staircase. Orcs used to use it in the days of Sauron running messages between the Dark Tower and the Nazgûl. That's probably where they'll take us."_

" _And what of … the creature that dwells there?"_

Eldarion said nothing, confirming Elboron's fears. As a child he and Eldarion had sat in raptured silence as they listened to the tales of the wars from its greatest warriors. But by far their favourite stories had been those told by the Halflings. Story telling seemed to be a natural gift of their race, and on their visits to Gondor, Sam, Merry and Pippin had been more than happy to regale the boys with tales of their deeds, embellished sometimes, but mostly truthful, for there was little need to embellish that which was already incredible. Sam's tales in particular lingered with him now. The monster he had fought in the pass above Cirith Ungol had filled many a nightmare of his as a child.

As the final wagons were being loaded, Elboron could hear the clear ringing of trumpets outside the city walls. They were here at last, his father and mother, his uncle and many more besides. But would they be too late?

The sound of siege met his ears, the groaning of machinery, the crashing of masonry, the rumbling stones and shaking earth. He heard the cries of men, fighting or dying he could not tell. He chafed at his shackles, for the first time in his life he _wanted_ to fight. His family was out there, fighting for _him_ and he may be forced to stand here and listen to them perish.

The stench of death was upon him, and he looked around to see the Shadow Elf, Curufin, strolling towards the two of them, apparently unperturbed by the fight around them.

"Time to leave, young princes," he said. "Can't have any of that precious blood being spilled now, can we?"

"You're spilling plenty of it out there!" Eldarion was glaring at the Elf, pulling at his bonds. "If royal blood is so important then why do your Orcs seek to spill my father's?"

The Elf laughed, sending a thrill of horror through him. "His is worthless," he said. "Royal blood is what we need, blood unsullied by shadow. Every royal born in Middle Earth after the fall of Sauron. So innocent, so naive are you that your blood is made pure."

"And why do you want it so badly?"

The Elf did not answer. He turned and nodded to an Orc standing guard at another door. The Orc opened the door to allow out another two Orcs with a pale figure suspended between them. Dressed in rags with a mess of long dark hair, Elboron could not see its face until it was almost upon them. The hair shifted to reveal pointed ears, and then a face full of youth and fair brightness. Eyes were closed in troubled repose, unconsciously it was dragged across the courtyard before being loaded onto the rearmost wagon where it lay as still as death. Elboron could not withdraw his eyes from it. So beautiful, yet so painful to look upon in its current condition. It was a figure enveloped in a mantle of suffering. It was a face he knew well, though he was now beholding it for the first time.

"Neniel," Eldarion breathed, staring at the figure, an odd misty look in his eyes. His expression hardened as he rounded on Curufin. "What have you done with her?"

Curufin smiled. "Elves do not do well in Shadow."

"You're doing a pretty good job."

"I am no Elf," Curufin said, black eyes gleaming. "Not any longer." he turned to the lead Orcs and issued commands to them before disappearing through the door he had entered. The Orcs approached the two men, releasing them from their bonds and pulling them towards the wagons, the foremost of which were beginning to trundle out of the courtyard through a low archway that led into the mountain against which the city was constructed. Four Orcs dragged these wagons in place of horses. Eldarion began to struggle, but the Orcs were more powerful. One roared at him and kicked him harshly in the leg. Elboron screamed in pain as he felt Eldarion's leg be broken. He and his friend offered little further resistance as they were loaded onto the wagon with Neniel, weak with their pain and oblivious of everything else until their wagon was on the move, surrounded by Orc guards.

Their procession passed into a narrow tunnel that was pitch black and cold, the sound of the wheels echoing along the passage. The sound of Orcs grunting under their heavy loads almost drowned out the quiet sighs of Eldarion as he felt his leg. Elboron winced with him as he felt his probing fingers.

" _How bad?"_ Elboron asked after about five minutes, fighting through the pain in order to re-establish the link.

" _Definitely broken, I can't move it."_

" _How will we escape now?"_

" _We have to hope my father can break the siege quickly."_

Elboron could detect the note of resentment in Eldarion's mind as he said this. He almost rolled his eyes. This surely was no time for Eldarion's pride.

He sensed Eldarion move around the wagon, reaching out into the darkness. _"I can't see a thing,"_ he said. " _Is Neniel alright?"_

Elboron shifted forwards, reaching out with his own hands. Presently, he encountered a cold hand, soft and small. He searched for a pulse.

" _She's weak,"_ he said. " _Fading quickly."_

Eldarion's swore aloud, earning him a sharp knock by an Orc, whose sight was apparently unimpaired by the darkness. He sidled closer to Eldarion.

" _Can we do anything for her?"_

" _Not here, it is this place that ails her."_

" _But what about the magic? Can't we do something like that? Remember when I lent you my strength during the fight in Ithilien? Could we do that for her?"_

" _How? We've never been able to repeat it."_

" _Let us try now."_

Devoid of any other ideas, he and Eldarion sat together on that rocking wagon on its way to Mordor, trying with all their might to break through their link with her, to offer her what little strength they had. Her presence grew slightly stronger in their minds, but aside from that there was no change. She did not stir.

Eldarion was growing more and more frustrated. He had seized Elboron's hand and was squeezing it so tightly it pained him, perhaps hoping such closeness of their flesh would strengthen their link.

By now the passage had changed. It was no longer a tunnel, but a wider pass, with many openings in many directions, cold drafts with terrible odours issuing from these lesser passages. They were now directly within the pass of Cirith Ungol, Elboron knew. The Lair of Shelob.

Would an appearance by her be a blessing or a curse? She might distract the Orcs, or she might assist them, or simply attack them all indiscriminately. She had been starved of food for decades since the depopulation of Mordor. This would be a veritable feast.

Still onward the wagon trundled, oblivious or perhaps unafraid of the darkness that lived here, the Orcs marched without a falter in their rhythmic step.

Eldarion appeared not to have noticed, and still continued on, trying to access the power he believed they shared. He could almost see him there in the dark, face screwed up with effort, pink and sweaty as he tried to wield as much strength in his mind as he could in his arm. Elboron turned his mind back to their task, focusing with all his strength, pouring forth his new anxieties and fears of his surroundings born of years of nightmares.

Something snapped in his mind, and from his and Eldarion's joined hands a sudden flare of light erupted before dying immediately away as if by the striking of a flint. Both fell back in shock as they saw this, both breathing heavily as they felt a draining of their strength.

"Was that magic?"

"What else was it?" Elboron looked around to see if the Orcs had noticed the flash, but even if they had reacted, he would have been unable to see them.

Eldarion went very quiet for a long time. Through their link, Elboron could tell he was thinking deeply, his fear pushed aside in favour of action. He was coming up with a plan, but it was a plan fraught with danger, and Elboron knew before he had voiced it that it was going to be one he disagreed with.

" _Elboron, if we can do that again, but increase it, we could use it as a distraction."_

" _For what?"_ Elboron frowned. " _Orcs are hardly likely to be afraid of a little light."_

" _We're in new tunnels now, Shelob's tunnels. There is a path down to the valley below, the one Frodo and Sam once used. It could be reached if there is a distraction long enough to allow someone to run along the tunnels and down the stairs where the army is below."_

" _These Orcs can travel by shadow, Eldarion. They would be upon the runner in a moment."_

" _They travel by shadow, yes, but I don't believe they can move through it constantly and precisely where they wish. If they could they could have popped up at any place in the last two months to take us. They cannot pinpoint an exact location. And Shelob would surely be a deterrent as well. She is something even more ancient and foul than they."_

" _And she would offer no resistance to the runner?"_

" _It is a chance that must be taken."_

Elboron sighed out loud, mind racing. His heart almost stopped as he fully grasped the implications. " _You cannot run with that leg, Eldarion."_

" _No, I cannot. And neither can Neniel in this state. That is why you must be the one to go."_

If Elboron had been able to see the prince, he was almost certain he would have seen one of his teasing grins plastered to his face. He could not be serious. The idea was ludicrous.

" _What, and leave you?"_

" _You must, Elboro-"_

" _Forget about it-"_

" _No, listen, Elboron_!" his friend's mind-voice was pleading now. " _You must go to my father and tell him of where we are. There are secret tunnels in Mordor, I know where they are. Remember when we were children and we used to play being Ringbearers?"_

Elboron nodded and smiled, despite the darkness. " _You were always Frodo and I was always Sam."_

" _My father brought me out to Mordor as a child as he surveyed the defences and I lost my way in tunnels around it as I played, pretending I was Frodo with Sting hunting Gollum through a cave. My father was furious when he found me, so afraid I would end up in a foul pit somewhere. But he told me then of his plans. He had filled the mountains around Mordor with secret tunnels which only he and I would know the exact entrances to. It was my father's defence in case Mordor was ever retaken, the watch-towers fallen and there needed to be secret entrance again. I'll get to one of those tunnels, Elboron, the one that makes its exit at Emyn Arnen. You must tell my father this so he can come to get myself and Neniel when we exit for it's likely we'll be pursued."_

" _Are you mad? How on earth do you think you'll escape from Mordor with a leg like that, much less with an injured elf-maiden in tow?"_

" _That's for me to worry about."_

" _This is folly, Eldarion. I will not leave you here_ -"

" _You must,"_ and now his voice was firmer than Elboron had ever heard it, sounding almost like that of Elessar's. " _You were right to stand up to me before about my father, but in this you must obey me. My father must be told about Curufin and what we suspect of his origins. Only you will be able to make it."_

Elboron felt sick. He sat listening to the sounds of the Orcs around him, nostrils filled with the stench of Shelob and he felt his terror spike.

" _But how shall I get past the creature? Even Sam and Frodo needed assistance from the Elvish glass."_

" _Perhaps I may help there."_

Elboron and Eldarion froze and a new voice entered into their mental conversation, one that was fair and musical, a voice that spoke of spring in faraway lands and joyful laughter.

" _Neniel?"_ they asked together in astonishment.

" _Yes, though I do not know who you are,"_ the voice was faint and dreamlike. " _I have listened for some time, and though I do not understand, I like your voices. I feel as if I have heard them before somewhere. In any case, they are a welcome distraction from what has filled my head of late."_

Elboron did not know what to say. He could sense Neniel near him, she was stirring feebly, but was still lying prone on the floor as far as he could tell.

" _How can you help us?"_ he asked, seeing that Eldarion had been struck dumb.

" _I sensed your attempt at magic before, perhaps I can assist_ ," she said slowly, " _though I have little energy to spare. It all seems to be vanishing from me … what was I talking about? Where are we?"_

" _Cirith Ungol,"_ Eldarion said then, his voice keen. " _Shelob's lair. You said you could help_?"

" _Ah … yes …_ " She moved on the wagon, and Elboron could tell through the link that Eldarion had reached forwards to lift her gently into a seating position, avoiding moving his own damaged leg too much. " _I have this … a talisman of my mother … it is not the Phial of Galadriel that the Halfling used in the tales … but perhaps it will serve …"_

In the darkness she reached out and her fingers brushed against his own. He spread out his palm and into his hand fell a small stone, rubbed smooth, warm to the touch, attached to a long thin chain. He ran his fingers over it, trying to see it in his mind's eye.

" _What is it? How have you kept it hidden until now?"_

" _It is a stone containing a drop of water from the Bay of Cuiviénen in the Sea of Helcar, where Elves first awoke in Arda_ ," she said. " _It is an heirloom of my people, the Water Elves of Rhûn. When the Valar called the Vanyar, the Noldor and Teleri across the sea, my people remained by the waters they had been born to. When the world was changed and the Sea of Helcar destroyed and split into the Sea of Núrnen and the Sea of Rhûn, still my people remained, the sole possessors of the memory of those days of bliss under the stars before the calling of the Valar."_ She sighed, and through their link he felt a crushing sadness and fatigue. _"Like the Elven Rings of Power, this talisman is only visible when I wish it to be and so I have kept it hidden. It alone has sustained me … perhaps it can aid you also in some fashion. Let it guide your way."_

Elboron clenched his fist around the precious item, astounded. " _This is an item beyond value. Are you sure you wish to trust it to me?"_

He heard a soft, sad laugh echo in his mind. " _It matters not whom I give it to. I have no qualms for I know you are not real. You cannot be ... hope has long deserted me … for me it is now too late. This is only my mind playing tricks on me …"_

Elboron shared a thought of alarm with Eldarion, sensing the other man's concern. The young elf was more affected than they had thought. She was drifting away from them now, her thoughts becoming ever more vague and hazy as if lost behind cloud.

" _You need to go now, Elboron,"_ Eldarion said urgently as her thoughts became ever fainter. _"Before we are in Mordor itself. Make yourself ready._

" _I can't do this,"_ Elboron said, hands trembling around the talisman. _"I'm not brave like you, Eldarion."_

His friend reached to him and squeezed his arms. " _Yes, you are, Elboron. Far braver than I am. You have the courage to be yourself where I try to emulate others. Never doubt that. Trust in yourself, mellon nín."_

Elboron wished he could believe him, he truly did. He had never had the courage to be himself. True, he did not pretend to be as a warrior, boasting and swaggering around the castle instead of spending time with his beloved books and scrolls, but was that brave? Was not his wish to avoid conflict cowardly?

He slipped the talisman around his neck as discretely as he could, conscious of the night vision of their guards. It lay warm against his chest, seeming to ignite a new courage in his heart. He felt a fire in his blood and a clearness in his mind.

" _Get ready to run,"_ Eldarion was saying to him. " _Run as fast and as hard as you can. Do not stop. Relate all I have told you to my father."_

Elboron reached for his hand and squeezed tightly, feeling his throat tighten. _"Stay strong, gwador nín_ ," he said. _"I will return for you."_

He heard a soft laugh. " _I expect nothing less from my Steward."_

The next moment they were silent, both focusing as hard as they could on their link, pouring forth all thought and energy that they could into that link, strengthening it, moulding it, building its power. A third presence joined them gradually, and Neniel added what she could, her power weak but light and unsullied. The power built and built, growing stronger and stronger until it was like floodwaters pressing against a dam, searching for any tiny crack to unleash its fury.

"Now!" Eldarion cried aloud, and all that energy was set loose in one, filling the tunnel around them with a flash of light more intense and more terrible than a bolt of lightning sustained at its highest point of light and crackling energy. The Orcs around them fell to their knees in pain and terror, some evaporated entirely into shadow and others wailed and cried, tearing at their faces, turning their eyes from this terrible light.

Elboron wasted no time. As soon as the energy was released he had vaulted over the side of the low wagon and raced down the nearest tunnel, using the light of the magic to guide him along its narrow course. The foul air choked him, but he did not falter and was soon far along the passage, leaving the light behind him. He heard the shouts of Orcs, the clatter of pursuing feet and increased his pace, running as he never had in his life. He ducked into another passageway, and now found himself in total darkness. He continued running, guided only by the soft drafts of air coming from the tunnel before him. He knew not where he was, what level of the labyrinthine network of Shelob he found himself in but he did not care. All he could think of was the movement of his legs.

A seeping weariness was threatening to overcome him, fatigue from the magic from his body and that of his two accomplices, but his pace did not slow. His legs were trembling, the pain from Eldarion's injury still there but some hidden power prevented them from collapsing underneath him. He turned left, then right, then left again, losing himself entirely in the warren of caves, listening at all times for pursuit. Orcs behind him gradually became distant, and he knew he had escaped them for present. Now all he needed worry about was Shelob.

He could sense her presence. She knew he was here. She was not ignorant of this mortal man racing through her domain. Alone and unarmed, he was a prize she had not had presented to her in many years. Easy pickings.

Her hulking body was moving through the passages with him with a rapidity that surprised him. He could hear the click of her fangs, the slithering of her body as she forced it down these passages. He could smell the foul odour from her grotesque body. He could feel the cold air around him that signified the presence of her evil aura.

His breath came in long gasps, pain was in his chest and his limbs burned. Tears splashed down his cheeks as he thought of his friend back amongst the Orcs. Would he ever see him again?

His hand went to the talisman at his throat and clenched around it. Shelob's presence was now overwhelming. She was all around him and each second brought the expectation of a sharp stinger in his side, poison in his blood and then eternal sleep.

He reached out with his mind, brushing his thoughts against the distant minds of Eldarion and Neniel, feeling new strength add to his depleted body, solid as the earth.

Fired with new determination, he wheeled around and shouted aloud words he had never before uttered, though had heard Sam repeat them often in his tales. " _Aiya Eärendil, elenion ancalima!"_

A blazing light filled the chamber he found himself in issuing from the stone around his neck, a light that seemed to warm him from the inside out, the light of stars untouched by shadow, of birth and renewal. At the same time, the very earth beneath him seemed to tremble with some new and awesome power. He heard a hideous screech that rent his insides. The creature was before him, giant legs flailing as they tried to propel a monstrous body away from the light and into the haven of darkness. It continued to wail and gurgle, its cries speaking of physical pain as it slinked back into another tunnel and wallowed there.

Elboron again wasted no time, and turned around and ran again, now aided by the light of the talisman. He could see it now, a clear stone on a chain of mithril, bright and clean as a drop of water. He ran and ran, new strength in his limbs.

The tunnel opened out and he found himself on the brink of cliffs that fell away down to a valley of darkness and shadow. The city sat before him, glowing greenish light illuminating an army of miniscule men. Fires were lit among the men, and it seemed as if they were scattered and divided. They were in retreat. The siege had ended badly.

Elboron took all of this in in an instant. The army had stood no chance against the city and they had failed at the first assault. This was no mortal city that could be laid waste, and the army had realised that. They now retreated to the relative sanctity of the head of the valley to regroup where their thoughts and spirits could not be dulled by the evil place. Even from this distance Elboron could see the banners of Gondor and Rohan held high aloft. He had to get to them. His stomach lurched as he saw how high he stood and his limbs trembled. His fear of heights would serve him ill here.

The next second he was climbing, down and down, scrambling in dirt and filthy stone on steps that were uneven and craggy, almost vertical in places, slipping and sliding in his haste, doing his best to ignore the panic in his breast and the spinning of his head. He shivered in the thin clothes he had worn under his armour, the cold winds bringing noxious smells to his nose. Hours he climbed, jumping at places, sliding in others, wishing to reach the army either before it left the valley entirely or he succumbed entirely to his paralysing fear of high places.

It was this haste that proved his downfall. Still several hundred feet above the valley floor his foot missed a hold and the next second he was falling, down and down, limbs hitting painfully against the side of the cliff as he went. He scrambled for a hold, but none could be gotten. He closed his eyes. Was this it?

Eldarion and his parents would never know what became of him.

Solid rock rushed up before him and he slammed into it, hearing a crack in his shoulder and feeling a pain shoot down his arm. Everything went black.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting on this story! I appreciated every single one of you! :)**

* * *

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Mellon nín- My friend**

 **Gwador nín- My sworn brother**

 **Quenya Elvish: **

**Aiya Eärendil, elenion ancalima!- Hail Eärendil, brightest of stars!**


	12. Chapter 11- A Reunion

**A/N:** **Massive thank you to anyone reading this story! I appreaciate every single one of you! :)**

* * *

A Reunion

The army was in rapid retreat, fleeing through the valley they had marched through only a few hours before. Aragorn was reminded unpleasantly of a dog running with its tail between its legs. The siege had been an unmitigated disaster. What had seemed a hopeless quest at first now seemed a mission of pure folly, and he had been in charge.

The Orcs had been unprepared for the assault, but they had quickly rallied, and soon all their siege machinery lay in ruins before the walls of the city, brought down by some unearthly fire. Men he had sent forth to scale the walls had turned to ash and bone the second they had laid hands on the dark stone. The army was being picked off one by one by arrow after arrow, hellfire rained down upon them and above all, the malingering evil of that place had increased tenfold until men were falling where they stood, vomiting, tearing at their flesh, going mad before his eyes. It was turning into a massacre. What else could he have done but order the retreat?

Every step his horse took rattled him from head to toe, loud and final in its sound as he moved away from his son, abandoning him to that wretched place. Every inch of him wanted to turn around, throw himself at the city and tear it apart with his bare hands. But to do so would be to truly give up all hope of his rescue, and that of the other youths. He needed to regroup, rethink his strategy before he returned. He only hoped Eldarion could hold out that long.

Faramir rode at his side, his face ashen grey. He avoided Aragorn's eye, his anger at him still palpable in the air between them. He had obeyed his king only reluctantly, shouting and railing against him when he'd given his orders until Aragorn truly believed he was going to act against him. A heavy silence now fell over the two of them and all the other commanders as they rode at the head of the procession. Aragorn's heart was torn in two. Could they not see how fervently he wished to remain? How much he desired to storm that place and seek out his son? But he was king, and could not continue to risk his men on such a suicidal mission, no matter his own opinion on the matter. He could not ask it of them, though he knew that many would have obeyed him willingly. He could not risk thousands for the sake of a father's love.

"We will rendezvous with the camp at the Cross-roads," he announced, his voice carrying to all of his friends. "Once there we shall take stock of our losses and review our plans."

"Do you include our children in those losses?" Faramir asked stiffly. He rode with a straight back, clutching the reins before him in a vicelike grip. "Or are they collateral?"

"What do you suggest?" Aragorn asked sharply, dropping his kingly reconciliatory air in his distress. "Remain outside those walls until every single one of us is dead? How will that help them? We need a new plan."

"That was the only plan we had," Faramir shot back. "What else can we do? We need to go back."

"And we will," Aragorn said firmly. "By the Valar, we will. But the situation has changed."

"I see no change."

"Then you are blind to the reality of the situation."

"The _reality_ is that our children are behind us, right now, probably being tortured and who knows what else and you're having us walk away!"

"If you wish to kill yourself and abandon him, be my guest!"

"Enough of this!" Éowyn who was riding on the other side of Faramir turned to them, her face white and tears at her eyes. "None of this will help them. We must stay united or all is truly lost."

Faramir's expression softened, and he reached out his hand to her. "You are right. We cannot give in to despair." He turned back to Aragorn. He said nothing, but nothing needed be said for Aragorn saw his own heart reflected back at him. They understood exactly what the other felt.

They rode on in silence a while longer, now almost out of the valley itself. The darkness above seemed to be thinning slightly, and a narrow band of blue in the lands beyond could be seen. How strange the shadow that had descended upon this place! Like a veil over the land.

Legolas had said nothing since their retreat began, silently acknowledging that Aragorn's decision had been the correct one, despite the pain it caused them both. Now he rode slightly in front of the others, but stopped suddenly, staring at the cliffs around them.

" _Legolas, man cennich?"_ Aragorn asked, pulling his horse close, recognising the signs. "What do you see?"

"There is a figure at the base of the cliff yonder," he said, pointing with a long, slender hand. "Small and pale. It is not moving."

"An Orc?"

"I do not believe so."

"There?" Sam had cried from his position perched behind Aragorn. "That's the foot of the Stairs of Cirith Ungol!"

"Are you certain?" Aragorn asked, half twisting around to view the Hobbit's face.

"I'd never forgot a journey like that!"

The entire procession had halted now. Aragorn's hand went to the hilt of Andúril. "Nothing good can come from that Pass," he said. "We must proceed cautiously."

But Legolas had ridden on ahead slightly, peering into the distance. "It appears as if something has fallen from the steps." His face went slack with astonishment. "It's Elboron!"

"Elboron?" Faramir had gone deathly white. He looked up at the high cliffs. "Fallen …"

Éowyn had spurred her horse into motion, galloping fiercely towards the spot Legolas motioned, and her husband was at her side a second later. Legolas followed, and Aragorn pursued as well, still clutching his sword, hardly daring to believe his friend. Cold dread seized him as he drew closer and saw for himself a huddled heap on the rock. He could not be dead … surely not. And Eldarion? He almost collapsed at the thought of finding his son here, splayed at the bottom of a cliff in this foul land.

Faramir and Éowyn had thrown themselves from their steeds and were now crouching around the figure, their voices full of panic and terror. "Elboron!"

Coming upon them himself, Aragorn flew to their side, his heart hammering. Éowyn was on the ground, and in her arms, prone and pale was her son. He was as still as death, eyes closed. She turned to Aragorn, tears on her cheeks. "Help him, please!"

Aragorn knelt quickly and examined the boy, his heart sinking. Faramir crouched beside his wife, clutching his son's hand, face drained of all colour. He seemed unable to speak.

The left side of Elboron's face was covered in purple bruises, harsh against his pale skin, blood had been spilled there and wiped away ineffectually as the skin swelled and blotched. He had been stripped of his armour and wore only the thin clothes which had been underneath, the right side of which was soaked in blood. He leaned in and lifted the boy's shirt, seeing vicious scrapes and cuts there beginning to bruise. The shoulder appeared slack, and he suspected it to be dislocated or broken. The entire time he was examined, Elboron did not stir, despite the pain of the injuries, but lay in his mother's arms as a corpse.

But no corpse was he, not yet at least. His inner strength held true, and his chest rose and fell in slight movements almost undetectable to eyes other than his. But he was weak and cold. He could not remain here.

"Aragorn," Faramir choked eventually. "He's not- he's not-"

"He lives," Aragorn reassured him, "though he is grievously wounded. I suspect he fell from a great height."

"But how came he to be here?"

"I do not know, but that is beside the point." Aragorn took equipment handed him then by one of the army healers and began to bind the worst of the wounds. "We must get him to the main camp immediately so I can treat him away from this evil place. Once I have finished, Faramir, take him with you and we shall ride on ahead to the garrison we left at the cross-roads. There I can tend to him better."

Faramir nodded, and said nothing further as Aragorn completed his task. He then lifted his son in his arms and carried him to his horse, gently laying him there before climbing on himself. Éowyn helped to arrange the positioning, wrapping a cloak around him to protect him in the cold wind. She laid a kiss on his brow.

"Aragorn." Legolas was standing at the foot of the stairs, his entire body tense. He was looking directly upwards. "Do you think …" he trailed off, voice trembling. "Were they separated? Could our children be up there, or here strewn on the ground like broken dolls?"

The same thought had struck Aragorn and his heart quailed at the thought of finding Eldarion here, body mangled and dashed upon the rocks.

"We cannot speculate yet," Aragorn said, keeping his voice steady. "Elboron will tell us more when he awakes."

Legolas looked at him, and they both knew they shared the same unspoken thought. _If he awakes._

Aragorn climbed back on his horse, and after leaving directions to one of his commanders to search the area thoroughly, sped off after Faramir and Elboron, now far in front. An hour or so brought them back to the camp they had vacated that morning. They were met with cries of dismay from the soldiers left guard, but Aragorn rode past them without halting till he was at his own tent. Faramir was already there and had lain Elboron upon a low bed by a small fire. Never a large man, Elboron lying there appeared swamped by the furs around him, the yellow light of the fire bringing no warmth to his pallid cheeks, only casting the bruised side of his face into deeper shadow.

After issuing hasty commands to his servants to bring medicine, clean water and bandages, Aragorn set to work once more. Éowyn entered the tent shortly afterwards and though a skilled healer herself left Aragorn in charge and took her place by her son's side, taking her husband's hand in quiet companionship, the only solace either of them could have. As the various lords begun arriving they too came to the tent, crowding around him, offering words of comfort and speculation, Gimli, the Hobbits and Imrahil the foremost of these.

"Everybody out!" Aragorn commanded, as the tent began to grow ever more crowded with well-wishers. "Only family. I must work in peace."

Though disappointed, the crowd dissipated, led by Prince Imrahil who shooed them all away, though being Elboron's great-uncle could feasibly have demanded to be allowed to remain himself. In a moment only Faramir, Éowyn and Éomer stood around him, their faces grave.

As Aragorn cleaned the wounds and dressed them he spoke quietly to those in the room. "These wounds here are from the fall," he said, pointing to the boy's right side. "A fractured shoulder blade which should hopefully heal with no lasting damage to his sword arm in time, and some nasty looking cuts and abrasions which are less serious than they appear." He now pointed to Elboron's face. "These bruises however are not from the fall. They are slightly older. I believe they came from a blow to the face, an Orc perhaps, very strong."

"Torture?" Éomer asked, eyes cast downward.

"Perhaps, Orcs are not known for treating their prisoners well, which Merry and Pippin could easily tell you," Aragorn said heavily. "Now, however, I am concerned at his unconsciousness. Pain may cause him to black out, but he should be responding. I fear a blow to the head as he fell, but I cannot be certain. He has no visible wound, so perhaps we have been spared that."

"Then why won't he wake?" Éowyn asked.

Aragorn was reminded darkly of Eldarion's long sleep after the fight in Ithilien despite seeing no apparent cause, but did not seek to trouble her further with this.

"I hope it is only temporary," he said instead. "A shock to his body combined with fatigue. We shall know in time."

His task complete, he surveyed the face of the young man, seeking the answers to the questions he had. What had he been doing in Cirith Ungol? Had he escaped? What of his son? But Elboron continued sleeping.

A flash of silver caught his eye then, and he observed a long thin chain around the boy's neck. He carefully drew it around his head and held it up to the light. So thin and light was it he had been entirely oblivious of it until now, almost invisible it was so fine. At the end of the chain was a small, clear stone within which was enmeshed a single drop of water shimmering hypnotically in the fiery light.

Faramir learned in to examine it. "I have never seen that before," he observed. "It appears Elvish. Does it belong to Eldarion?"

"No," Aragorn mused, eyes still on the beautiful gem, enraptured by its purity. "But perhaps …". He turned to the mouth of the tent. "Legolas!"

The Elf came a moment later, and as soon as he stepped inside his eyes fell upon the necklace and he gasped.

"That is Neniel's!" he cried, coming forward and all but snatching it from Aragorn's grasp. "It belonged to her mother. It is her most precious possession. She is never without it."

"She must have given it to Elboron," said Éomer, he too entranced by the gem now swinging from Legolas' fingers. "They were together at some point then, even if separate now."

"She would never relinquish this," Legolas said, wrapping his fingers around it and breathing heavily. "Not unless she truly believed all was lost. Or she was …"

He did not finish that sentence, but it hung threateningly in the air.

"She gave it to him," Aragorn decided, bringing the Elf back to himself. "A message perhaps, proof that she yet lives. We must take it as a sign of hope."

But as Aragorn looked down upon Elboron's unmoving form, his belief almost shattered.

What hope was there?

* * *

Elboron was lost in a maze of fire and ash. All around him was pain and suffering. Agony ripped through every inch of his body. There was no end to it. No way out of the abyss.

But a voice was calling him from a distance. A voice that was noble and fair, calling him by name, speaking sweet words of the Elven tongue. His hurts seemed to diminish, his body began to recover. He liked that voice. He'd heard it before. But where?

As he returned to awareness, he realised he was lying in a hard camp bed, furs piled high on top of him. His body ached, but not agonisingly so. No, that was gone now, chased away by that magical voice. He could bear this pain. But the heaviness in his soul did not lessen. There was something important he needed to remember.

It came to him suddenly, and he wrenched his eyes open, immediately wincing as the bright light of a fire stung them. He blinked a few times as his eyes began to focus. He was lying in the corner of an immense tent, around the walls of which were draped black and silver banners of Gondor. The king's tent then, but how had he come to be here?

A crowd of people were huddled around the fire in the centre of the space. He watched for a moment or two of haziness. He knew these people, did he not? There was something familiar about their faces. A woman sat a little bit away from them, in a chair closer to his own bed. She was tall and fair, with long golden hair that shone in the firelight. She looked pale and cold, a heavy weariness on her brow. He knew her face …

"Mother?" his voice was weak and raspy, as if he had not drunk for a week, but her head jerked around immediately and in an instant she had flown towards him, eyes wide, groping for his hand and holding it tightly in her own.

"Elboron!" she cried, her voice thick with suppressed tears. "My son, you're awake!"

Elboron frowned and squinted at her, unable to make sense of his sluggish thoughts. "What happened?"

"We had hoped you would tell us that." Another figure had joined his mother, a man tall, with raven hair and grey eyes ringed with a shadow he knew was only recent addition. His father, he remembered vaguely. Had he always looked so strained?

"I don't remember," Elboron said, seeing a dozen other people who had joined his parents at his bedside crowd around. "It's all so confusing."

"You fell a great distance, Elboron," another man had said, who wore a small circlet. "You are fortunate you survived. Do not strain yourself too much."

Elboron was now aware of the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the bandages that bound it. He had fallen? Of course! From Cirith Ungol. But why was he there in the first place? And why did his leg hurt when he could feel no bandages there?

The wall in his mind came crashing down and he immediately bolted upright in bed making everyone around him gasp in shock.

"Eldarion and Neniel! They're still up there!" he cried, seeing images and memories flashing before his eyes. "We have to go!"

"You cannot go anywhere just now," Elessar said, though his face had gone pale. "You need to rest-"

"No, I need to help them," Elboron said, resisting the king's attempts to push him back down on the bed. "I promised I would."

Elessar hesitated, evidently precariously balanced between his duty to Elboron and his desire to help his son. Apparently, his son won out. "Where is Eldarion?" he asked then, his mask worn down.

"And Neniel?" asked Legolas, crouching beside the bed next to Elboron's mother.

Elboron closed his eyes and shuddered, feeling sick to his stomach. "Mordor."

The room was deathly silent for an instant, and then a low dark muttering broke out like the sound of insects on a muggy evening. Horrified faces looked down at him as he lay there.

"Mordor?" Elessar asked, gripping the edge of his bed tightly. "Are you certain?"

Elboron nodded. "They were taking us there after your army showed up."

"Through Cirith Ungol?"

He nodded again, the memory of that place sending coldness through his veins. "I managed to escape."

"But not the other two?" Legolas' voice was somewhat hard. "How?"

Elboron hesitated. How could he explain what had happened? He decided to save the particulars for later, he had more pressing concerns.

"Eldarion, Neniel and I created a distraction and I ran for it," Elboron said, speaking quickly and not meeting anyone's eyes. "I was the only one able to. Neniel was too weak and Eldarion's leg was broken." His voice went quiet and he swallowed hard. "I didn't want to leave them there," he whispered. "But Eldarion told me to. He said I needed to let you all know what was going on. So I did."

Elessar was silent a moment, breathing heavily as he took this in. "You were right to," he said finally. "Though it pains me that he is still there, and injured too, Eldarion displayed great wisdom in protecting you and ensuring a message could be conveyed. I am proud of him." He waited a minute longer. "Please, continue. What happened after you made the distraction?"

"I ran," Elboron said, feeling again the weariness in his legs. "I ran and I didn't stop. Even with Shelob behind me." He paused and looked up at Sam, who stood nearby. "You were right. She's more abhorrent than I could ever have imagined."

"How did you escape her?" his father asked in wonder.

"Neniel gave me something," he explained. "It drove her off."

"This?" Legolas pulled out a stone on a long chain. Elboron nodded.

"Yes. I called out the name of Eärendil and the light hurt her. It guided the way."

Legolas was clutching the stone tightly. "This talisman is more precious to Neniel than anything," he said stiffly. "You said she was weak … is she dying?"

Elboron met his eyes and was almost destroyed by the expression he saw there. What could he say to this grieving elf that would not only increase his suffering? Would a gentle lie be better than the reality? But Elboron had promised himself he would lie no longer, so the truth it must be, no matter how painful.

"She is fading," he said, looking only at Legolas. "She won't last much longer. Her mind is confused. She thought Eldarion and I were only phantoms of her mind."

It was not the news Legolas wanted to hear, but he bore it well. He nodded and drew a deep breath. He did not look at Elboron, though it seemed to be of grief rather than resentment.

Elboron looked back at Elessar who also looked woe-ridden. "Eldarion said to tell you something," he said, immediately catching the king's attention. "He's going to try and escape in Mordor, with Neniel. I don't know if he'll manage it or not, but if he does, he said he was going to make for the secret tunnel that comes out at Emyn Arnen, and that you should too."

"Secret tunnels?" most of the room sounded confused, but Elessar was deep in thought.

"That would indeed make sense," he said slowly, "considering how hidden those tunnels are. I made sure that only he and I would know the entrances, and I am certain they have not been discovered yet."

"But what's the hope the boy can escape on his own, bringing the elf with him?" Gimli asked. "That would be no easy task."

"No, indeed," Elessar said, "but we at least could use them. Now that we know they are in Mordor we can leave this accursed valley. Let them think they have won their victory and we shall march for Emyn Arnen, sneaking into Mordor under their very noses. If Eldarion can reach the tunnel, all the better."

"That's only if he isn't killed before then," Merry said. "Who's to say those Orcs won't kill them both as soon as they're in Mordor?"

"They won't," Elboron said quickly, and everyone turned to look at him. "He's too precious to them. We all are."

Glances were exchanged among the others. "By this do you mean the royals?" Elessar asked.

Elboron stared. "How did you-"

"We guessed," his father said darkly. "Or rather, your mother did. It's the only thing you all have in common. But why only you? Why not everyone of royal blood?"

"Only royal heirs born since Sauron's fall," he said. "He said we were 'unsullied by shadows'. He wants to use our blood for something once we're all together."

"What does that mean?"

"What use could there be for blood?"

"Is it magic?"

"Was he in league with Sauron?"

"Elboron." Elessar spoke quietly, but the rabble that had broken out in the tent fell silent immediately. "Who is _he_?"

Elboron closed his eyes and shuddered. "He's terrible," he said, picturing again the ruined face, the rotting flesh. "Just like the Orcs, only worse. A Shadow Elf. An Elf back from the dead."

"A Shadow Elf?" Legolas repeated in wonder. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Back from the dead? It's impossible!" His uncle Éomer stared. "Are you saying these Orcs are all back from the dead as well?"

"Yes," Elboron said, speaking quickly now and directly to Elessar. "They all are. They never stayed in shadows after they died, and this Elf never went to Mandos and learned to control them. He was in charge in Minas Morgul, but he has a brother in Mordor that he was sending us to. They were gathering the four of us, including a prince in Dale, but I don't know why they want our blood." He hesitated, stomach churning. "They're corpses. They're from the First Age. Like it was said at the Council, these Orcs are from that time period. And so is the Elf. He spoke in ancient Sindarin, and he said he knew Beren and Lúthien."

Elessar was leaning in, his jaw tight. "Did he give a name?"

"Yes," Elboron said, dreading the reaction. "He said it was Curufin."

"But how can that be?" his great-uncle, Prince Imrahil was staring with wide eyes. "He was slain by Dior in Doriath!"

"What did he look like?" another Elf had spoken, and Elboron vaguely recognised him as one of the Elves hey had rescued, the one who had taught Neniel to fight: Arveldir.

Elboron quickly described the Elf, leaving out much of the foul details. The Elf nodded firmly.

"It sounds like him," he said gravely. "But then I only ever caught a small glimpse. I was but a very young Elf, only Neniel's age when I joined my father on a patrol of Doriath's borders and saw him and his brother Celegorm with that hound of his. That was so very long ago. Both those Elves are long dead."

"I think it is him," Elboron insisted. "Everything about it fits."

"This is unlike anything I could have imagined," Elessar said, hand crossing his face. "The sons of Fëanor back from the dead … the thought is terrifying."

"I thought Fëanor was supposed to be a great Elf?" Pippin was frowning. "Wasn't he a master craftsman or something like that? And how evil could his sons have been? I've never heard of a _bad_ Elf before."

"There is good and bad in every race, my friend," Elessar said heavily. "Fëanor indeed was a figure of great renown, as were his sons for their part. But not all of their actions were commendable. It was they who participated in the Kinslayings, lifting swords against other Elves in pursuit of treasure of the highest quality. Great warriors they were and full of wisdom, but dark were some of their actions. They were not without faults of the gravest kind."

He turned his gaze back on Elboron. His eyes had narrowed.

"You have not told all yet, Elboron," he said. "Now I believe it is time for you to reveal the secret that bound you and Eldarion together. The secret that caused you to turn on each other so violently."

Elboron hung his head in shame as he thought of his fight with Eldarion. He had been foolish in more ways than one. A heavy stone seemed to have settled inside of him and he felt his eyes sting. He raised them to Elessar's, seeing with a spasm of pain that they were free of judgement, open and ready to listen. It only made him more ashamed.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice quavering. "We should have told you the truth. But Eldarion … he … I should have stood up to him sooner."

Elessar laid a hand on his good shoulder. "Do not worry about the past," he said kindly. "Eldarion was wrong to place such a burden on you, but let us move forwards. I forgive you both. Tell me now what it was that troubled you."

Elboron took a moment and breathed deeply, avoiding the many eyes that stared down at him. How to begin?

"We … were experiencing something … strange," he said slowly, trying to put it into words. "I can't quite explain it."

"You were experiencing each other's pain and thoughts," Elessar said, making Elboron's head snap up so quickly it hurt. Elessar nodded. "Yes, we guessed as much, though it amazes me to find out that our guess was accurate. But there's still much we don't understand. You must fill in the gaps of our knowledge."

Elboron swallowed. It seemed they knew everything already.

"It began before the first attack," he said, sitting himself more comfortably as he prepared for a long story. "Eldarion experienced … a vision. He saw a waterfall in a forest in the light of a setting sun."

"The waterfall outside my father's halls," said Legolas, and Elboron nodded.

"Yes, though he didn't know that at the time. He dismissed it. Then after the attack he felt pain and fear, and heard a laugh before he collapsed. I felt it too, though not as much. We didn't understand what had happened. We thought something about the Orcs had affected us."

"It was Neniel being attacked," Arveldir said. "She was stabbed in the side, and I remember now she laughed in the face of the Orc beforehand. She has such beautiful laughter."

"He heard it often," Elboron said. "All the time he said, and I heard it sometimes too."

"This went on then for some time?" Elessar asked and Elboron nodded.

"He felt her presence a lot, mostly at night when he slept. He could sense fear, despair and hurt from her, and once caught a glimpse of a face in a reflection of a woman. He didn't know what he was seeing and he was afraid. He thought he was going mad."

"But you saw her too?" Elessar pressed him, his face pale.

"Sometimes, but mostly my thoughts were with a different presence in a city before a mountain," he said. "I was looking through a window down on the city, watching it be attacked by Orcs and being able to do nothing against it."

"Prince Bain of Dale," Gimli nodded. "His home is at the highest point of the city."

"We didn't know what we were seeing," Elboron continued. "It made us afraid. But other things were happening too. We could feel each other's injuries, even when we were many leagues apart. And … each other's thoughts on occasion. It was like our minds were becoming merged, like we were becoming one person."

"It frightened you," Elessar said. And his eyes were soft. "Why did you not say anything when you realised what was happening?"

"Eldarion wanted to solve it on his own," Elboron said, shifting uncomfortably. "He didn't want to appear cowardly. When we found out about Neniel and about Dale and we realised whose minds we were seeing through, we tried to figure it all out ourselves. We thought we were being targeted because of this link and we didn't know what to do. We thought that if we told you it might put you in danger, or that you would see us as … well, weak."

Elessar closed his eyes and muttered to himself in Elvish. When he opened his eyes again they appeared watery.

"Would that he had said something," he said heavily. "What aid I could have given I do not know, but both of you suffering this in silence …"

"There's more," Elboron said, coming now to the part that scared him the most. "When we had that encounter in Ithilien, something else happened. He sensed that I was in danger, he felt my injury and something … changed. He sent something through our link, a strange new power, and when the Orc touched me … it disintegrated. That surge of power left us weak, and our minds more open than ever to each other."

"Surge of power?" Elessar looked as if he wanted to ask questions but Elboron cut across him, desperate to get this out.

"We tried again to replicate it," his words were now coming out in a torrent. "We tried so hard for ages to try and link our minds again and send that power between us, but we didn't get close. We worked on opening our minds to each other, hearing each other's thoughts when we wanted to, trying to contact Neniel as well. We were trying to control it. We were so afraid that some sort of evil was trying to take control of us."

He drew a deep breath, seeing wonder on the faces of those around him but still he ploughed on.

"The next time it happened was in the fight at the watch tower," he said, glancing to his father now. "When I saw Arveldir, I froze. I recognised him, knew who he was, everything about him though I'd never met him before. I was experiencing Neniel's memory of him, and it threw me. I couldn't move"

"I knew it wasn't fear that made you hesitate," his father said, eyes wide, "but _this-_ "

"Eldarion was with me in my mind," Elboron interrupted, "he sensed what was happening. He knew there was an Orc behind me and he warned me, and I was able to turn just in time."

"From all that distance?" Éomer asked in wonder. "He was _with_ you in your mind?"

Elboron nodded. "When we got back to camp, I was angry with him. I almost got caught because I had been distracted by Neniel's memories. I decided to tell you then, but Eldarion panicked."

"I remember," Elessar said heavily. He was blinking rapidly as if unable to believe what was happening.

"In Morgul we tried again to link our minds," Elboron continued. "We wanted to see if we could sense Neniel, to see if she was alright. We could sense her, but she was weak. The next day when we were to be transferred by wagon to Mordor Eldarion and I communicated using our thoughts so the Orcs wouldn't hear us. Somehow the link to Neniel finally opened fully and she could hear us and talk to us. Then we plotted the escape."

"She was well enough to converse telepathically?" Legolas asked, new hope in his eyes.

"Yes, but as I said, she thought we were just dreams," Elboron said, staring at the talisman in the Elf's hand. "She agreed to give me that because she didn't even think I was real. And who could blame her? We were talking with our _minds._ "

"How did you escape?" Elessar asked. He gripped Elboron's arm. "Tell me everything."

"We used magic," Elboron said, making the room gasp as one. "By linking our minds and sharing that strange power inside of us. We'd tried it earlier and succeeded in making a brief flash of light. Neniel decided to help us, and together we combined our power and we made a light so strong the Orcs were incapacitated or destroyed. Then I ran."

The room was silent, even Elessar was speechless. It was a full minute before the silence was broken.

"I'm not quite sure I take your meaning, Master Elboron" Sam was saying. "I thought magic was … well, different. Only something done by wizards and the greatest and oldest of the Elves, like Galadriel. How could you do something like that?"

"I don't know," Elboron said honestly, his body trembling. "I don't understand it."

"You said the first time you used this power you and Eldarion collapsed with the strength of it," Elessar said. "How did you manage to get away this time?"

"Maybe it was the three of us combined," Elboron shrugged, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. "I fought through the weariness. Maybe the other two helped me. I don't understand how it works."

Elessar stood up and moved away, pacing around the tent as he thought over all he had heard. The gathered nobles watched him silently, all waiting for him to guide them, lead them forwards. The king turned back to Elboron.

"This magic? Can you do it now?"

Elboron shook his head. "Only with the others."

"And this magic, this link between you all is what Curufin wants?"

"He didn't say, I'm not even sure he knows this link exists."

"If he did, wouldn't he have taken precautions?" his father asked. "Surely he would know that this would be a possible risk?"

"But this magic they have discovered and their coveted blood cannot be unlinked," Elessar said. "Perhaps the magic lies within the blood that the Elf wants, only he is unaware of the power of it."

"But what does he want with it?"

Elboron's mind had begun to wander now as conversation turned to speculation. His mind was swirling with emotion, with pain, with voices that weren't his own. As he had slowly become more alert and awake, his mind had begun to reach out subconsciously as it was now its habit to do so, searching for Eldarion and Neniel. He could feel them with him now, close enough to touch. A wall was between them, wavering slightly. It was Eldarion's mind. If he could break through, could he speak to him? Find out where he was? If he was alright? The barrier was so fragile … if he just reached out and knocked it down …

The barrier collapsed like a reed in the wind and released such a flood of agony that Elboron screamed aloud and fell back on his bed, writhing in pain. He could hear voices shouting at him from a distance, but all he could focus on was this torment, this anguish. His entire body was ablaze with cruel tongues of flame. He longed for death to end it all. Screams echoed in his ears. His own, and those of Eldarion's.

He felt someone seize him and shake him roughly, though it was only a minor distraction, like the bite of a flea to a mûmakil he barely registered it. His name was being called, words of fair Elvish came to him, and a small window cleared in his mind, long enough for him to see the eyes of Elessar above him, wide and frantic.

" _Elboron_ _, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad_." His face swam above him. "Listen to my voice! Bring your mind to us here with you."

"They're torturing him!" Elboron cried, body flailing wildly. Tears were streaming down his face. "They're hurting him! Eldarion!"

"Close your mind to his! Block him out. Focus on my voice. Look into my eyes. Make your mind your own. _Lasto beth nin. No i Melain na le."_

Elessar's voice, the Elvish he spoke, his soothing eyes and strong hands on his arms … he wasn't sure what it was, but slowly Elboron began to withdraw from Eldarion's mind, the barrier was rebuilt, fighting back against the waves of agony flowing over it. Elessar's face became clearer and clearer, Eldarion's voice, his screams began to fade. The furious fire burned down to smouldering embers.

He gasped for breath like a drowning man. His body was convulsing, twitching uncontrollably, his heart banged painfully against his ribs, eyes blurry with tears. He was tense, his limbs stretched out enough to make his muscles scream in protest. His shoulder injury was throbbing, the pain in his leg from Eldarion was still an echo. Elessar was rubbing his arms softly, muttering to him in Elvish as Elboron's body slowly began to cease its trembling. A sickening nausea was rising within him. He rolled to his side and retched over the side of the bed, coughing and spluttering and he struggled to draw breath. He felt weak, he felt lost and alone in a giant chasm of darkness, a million leagues from those around him. Soft hands were at his back, drawing him backwards. It was his mother, and she clutched him close to her, smoothing back his hair and murmuring soft words to him. He let her embrace him, unheeding anyone else who was there. He could do nothing but lie there, breathing laboriously. His father was there too, but he couldn't see him. The world before him was black and aimless.

"Aragorn!" he heard his mother cry. "What can we do?"

"I don't know." Elboron was shocked to hear the fear in Elessar's voice. "I just don't know."

"We must go to Emyn Arnen!" his father was saying. "Head through the passages and rescue Eldarion and Neniel. Once they're back we can figure out how this magic works and end its influence on them. It's the only way."

"Yes, we will leave without wasting another moment. I will make the preparations immediately."

"I will arrange to have Elboron taken to my home in Ithilien-"

"No!"

Elboron wrenched his eyes open, summoning a newfound strength. He saw everyone staring at him, their faces pale and strained. "I will not go."

"My son, you need rest-"

"I need to find them," Elboron said firmly. He was still shaking, but never before had he been so determined. "They're hurting him. They're afraid, I can feel it. I need to see this through."

Elessar looked at him for a long moment, their eyes locked together in silent battle. What must it be like for him, Elboron suddenly wondered. To know that his son was being tortured, to be able to see the very evidence of it directly before his eyes? It was no wonder he looked so disturbed. Even the greatest of men would be lost in such a situation. Such a burden he had to bear.

Elessar nodded, his jaw set. "You have a part to play in this yet, Elboron," he said. "And though it pains me to see you endure this suffering, the suffering of my son, I must allow you to come. You have not been linked together for naught. I feel in my heart that you should be with us."

Elessar's statement was met with some protest from his parents, but Elboron only had eyes for his king, who stood silently above him, his noble face unmoved, resolute and strong.

Elboron had never had more respect for him than he did now.

* * *

 **A/N: Please leave some feedback if you have the time! Also, if you're on Tumblr feel free to follow me idriltelcontar. I post moodboards, updates and discussions about this fic there if you're interested!**

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Legolas, man cennich- Legolas, what did you see?**

 **Elboron** **, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad** **\- Elboron, listen to my voice, come back to the light.**

 **No i Melain na le- May the Valar be with you**


	13. Chapter 12- Nightmares and Dreams

**A/N:** **Thank you so much to anyone who is reading this fic!**

* * *

Nightmares and Dreams

Laughter was all around him. Sweet, beautiful laughter. It lifted his heart, sent a warmth through his veins. He wanted to surrender to it, let it wash all over him and forget everything else, all the dark, the pain. But it was fleeting. It wasn't real.

Eldarion opened his eyes and saw the face of an Orc pressed close to his. Its orange eyes were creased in a leering grin. It laughed, exposing its rotten fangs. But this was not the fair laughter of his mind, but harsh and cruel. It stepped away from him, laying to one side the long stick he had been carrying, the enchanted weapon that caused unimaginable suffering to whoever it came in contact with. He had just spent the last several hours using it on Eldarion.

The young prince hung weakly in the chains that suspended him from the ceiling. He had long ago ceased to scream. Even his trembling had stopped. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was dead or alive. Could someone still be alive after such pain?

The dark little room he was in was now empty except for himself. A table covered in instruments of horror stood nearby and Eldarion tried to avoid looking at it, clenching his eyes tightly. He prayed to the Valar for it all to end soon. He did not know how much he could take. If he was to die, he wanted to die quickly and with dignity. He did not think these Orcs would allow him that.

There was also the issue of his value to them. They had refrained from spilling his blood. He was precious to him. They would not kill him, not yet. They needed him, and Eldarion knew the reason could not be good. If his death would inconvenience them in any way … so be it. _Valar, take me now,_ he prayed silently. _Don't let them win._

His prayers went unanswered, and he hung there in the dingy room, chains digging in painfully at his wrists. He'd been here for what felt like a day, though the passing of time was difficult to reckon in this foul land. After coming out of the terrible tunnels they had traversed a land of fire and ash, where every breath he took seemed painful. He'd been aware of a dark looming tower, and then a swarm of Orcs had descended on the wagon, dragging him in one direction, and Neniel in another, despite his attempts to hold onto her. He had not seen her since; locked up in this tiny room of torture he had simply waited for death, for some sort of resolution. It appeared however the Enemy would not make it easy for him.

He heard footsteps on the stairs outside the room and wearily tried to raise his head. It did not sound like an Orc. The door opened, and a dark figure stood in the doorway, but Eldarion could not discern its features in the dim light. A chill had come over the room, even in the fierce heat of Mordor. He did not have the energy to try and look closer. The magic in the tunnel, more powerful than anything they had done before had drained him of his strength. He could only hope Elboron had not succumbed to it in that beast's lair. It had been too long since he had been aware of his presence.

The figure was circling him now, like a wolf with its prey. Eldarion turned his head and narrowed his eyes. He was tired of this. He was tired of lurking in the dark. He wanted confrontation, not sneaking around. The stench of death was around him.

"You must be the brother," he said, keeping his voice as strong as he could. "You smell like the other one. Why couldn't you have had the decency to just stay dead?"

"Why, there would be nothing to gain in that, now would there, young prince?" the voice was harsh and cold, and like its brother similarly tinged with an ancient accent. "We all have our tasks to complete."

"Well, why don't you just get on with it?" Eldarion shifted uncomfortably. He did not like the way the elf was circling him in the shadows. The voice seemed to come from all around him, almost as if it _was_ shadow.

"A few questions first," the voice said from the darkness. "Answer them honestly if you wish to avoid further unpleasantries."

Eldarion laughed aloud. "I doubt there's anything I could do to prevent that. But go ahead, ask your questions. It will be for you to decide whether to trust my answers."

He needed to try and find out all he could about this elf, and cooperating seemed the best option for the moment. One thing he had observed from his father's guards: an interrogator could easily betray more than he intended while carrying out his interrogations if he was not careful. That was all he could count on at the moment.

"Very well. Where is your friend, the young Lord of Gondor and Rohan?"

"I have no idea," Eldarion answered honestly, his heart constricting painfully. He could only hope Elboron had gotten away; surely, he would know if Elboron had been killed? But the fear still bubbled away inside of him. Even if he was safe, what had happened to him while Eldarion was being tortured? Was he safe? Was he with his father and Eldarion's?

"It was foolish of him to run. The tunnels of Cirith Ungol are very dangerous."

"I know, full of Orcs," Eldarion muttered, flicking his eyes side to side. "Something should be done about that."

"You engineered your escape together. How?"

"Wish I knew."

"You used magic. How came you to learn that skill?"

"No idea."

"Do not lie to me."

"I'm not." Eldarion felt the presence growing closer and his hairs stood on end as that evil voice loomed nearer. It was silent for a moment as if thinking deeply.

"It appears you _are_ telling the truth," the voice said thoughtfully. "How very interesting. Revealing, one might say."

"Glad you think so, mind explaining it to me?" Eldarion asked, lifting his head a little further and straining his eyes into the darkness. He put more weight on his feet as his strength began to grow and eased the strain on his wrists, ignoring the pain from his broken leg.

The voice said nothing for several minutes, during which time Eldarion grew stronger and stronger. His training began to kick in, and every sense was alert for danger, searching for escape, no matter how unlikely. It appeared however that the voice lost interest in this thread. It changed tack suddenly.

"You are of the blood of Eärendil?"

Eldarion frowned at this question, and was immediately on guard. Now they were coming to the crux of why he was here; something about his blood or ancestry was important to this Elf. He had to discover what.

"Yes, he is my great-grandfather."

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, for the elf hissed in anger and the room changed from cold and uninviting to hostile and charged with fury. The next moment, a pair of pitch-black eyes were staring into his own. They rested within a face of ravaged former beauty, rotten skin stretched over a skull. As terrible in appearance as its brother, this Elf seemed worse in all else. Evil surrounded it, filled the very air. Its face came close to Eldarion, making him choke on the stench.

"Eärendil!" the elf spat. "That fool! That mindless oaf! So revered, and for what?"

"He is a star, you know."

"Pah!" the elf stepped back and surveyed him, its eyes flittering in the darkness. "He is no star. Just a thief."

"How do you work that out?"

"He has something of mine," the elf said. "Something stolen from long ago, so I have learned. Lúthien took it first when it was not hers to take, hoarded by Thingol, passed to Dior whom I slayed and then to Elwing. She passed it to him, and now he flaunts it to all. _Thief!_ Now his kinsman will help me to get it back."

"What makes you think I will help you?" Eldarion asked, glaring back at the Elf. "What is this thing he stole?"

The elf smiled a gruesome smile at him. "A jewel."

Eldarion stared at him. His blood had gone cold.

"You're talking about the Silmaril?" he asked in wonder, mind whirling as he blurted out his words. "You're Fëanor!"

"No, but an easy mistake to make. I am his son." The Elf laughed. Eldarion blinked rapidly, cursing his foolish outburst. "I am Celegorm."

This admission did not ease his heart. Celegorm. The name summoned up images of dark deeds and evil acts from Eldarion's most distant memories. The Elf who had slain one of his forebears, attacked and tried to force himself upon another. Again, he wished he had paid more attentions to the lays and ballads sung to him by his mother.

"Celegorm," he repeated, "the Kinslayer."

"An unfortunate sacrifice," the Elf laughed coldly. "All in the pursuit of the greater good."

"And what was that? The Silmaril? A simple jewel for all those lives?"

"There is nothing simple about the Silmarils," the Elf said harshly, a flash of anger in his eyes. "They are the purest of all creations in Arda."

"Once perhaps, but now they are stained with the blood of too many innocents."

"It matters not." The Elf came closer and smiled at him, lips thin and severe. "I made an oath to recover the stolen Silmarils, and I intend to fulfil that oath. I will reclaim them all."

"You're mad," Eldarion said, straining against his bindings. "You can't. They're scattered forever."

"Not true," the Elf was still smiling, eyes wide and shining. "One is with your dear great-grandfather, traversing the sky in the imitation of a star. One is in the western seas. The last is beneath the earth. Difficult to reach, but not lost forever. They can be recovered."

"How exactly?" Eldarion demanded, fear growing inside him as he saw the fervency of the Elf's speech. "You'd have to destroy all of Middle-Earth to do it, rip apart the ground, empty the seas, reach into the heavens themselves."

"Yes, and that is what I intend to do if needed."

Eldarion stared at him in horror. "Destroy all Middle-Earth?"

"All of Arda if need be."

"You're crazy," Eldarion's voice was weak. "Destroy all of existence for three jewels?"

"For far more than that." Celegorm was pacing now. "For the chance to end this Oath once and for all. It has kept us here, we the sons of Fëanor. Millennia we have lurked in the shadows, denied entry to the Halls of Mandos for the evil we did in pursuit of them. We are unable to rest until that Oath has been fulfilled, the one we swore with our father and spilled so much blood over. Bound and mutilated, we are cursed to this existence until the Silmarils are once again in the possession of the blood of Fëanor, their creator, whom Melkor stole from in Valinor. Most of my brothers stay in the shadows, ashamed of what we did, but not I. I will get them back. I will restore the kingdoms of old."

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Eldarion was shaking with horror now.

The Elf grinned at him, and laughed. "Why you, my dear cousin. You and those other royals are the key." The Elf came closer yet until Eldarion could see his own reflection in those terrible eyes. "My brother was a Seer, and he spoke the words of Manwë, the most powerful of the Valar:

 _Jewels of Arda, Valar blessed, Valar cursed._

 _Cruelty you awoke, arrogance and greed._

 _Blood has been spilled. Loyalties destroyed._

 _To the ends of the world they are scattered._

 _Earth, air, fire and sea, their power watches over all._

 _Of this power, no creature shall again know._

 _Save only four, whose time has not yet come._

 _Unsullied by shadow, together they stand, power united._

 _They alone can unlock their worth._

 _Royal blood was spilled over the jewels._

 _Only royal blood will restore them."_

Eldarion did not say anything in response. What could he say? The fervour in the Elf's eyes was terrifying to behold. Mad, cruel and dangerous. A black fog had fallen over his mind. Cold shivers ran through his body. This Elf planned on ripping Middle-Earth apart at the seams to reclaim his inheritance, based on a millennia old oath. And he planned on doing it by combining the blood of four young royals, two of whom were his own distant kin.

The Elf appeared not to notice his horrified silence. He paced back and forth, smiling to himself, rubbing his hands together. He was _excited,_ Eldarion realised suddenly. His time had finally come. Centuries and centuries of waiting had come to fruition.

Celegorm stopped, as if suddenly remembering Eldarion was there. He regarded him coolly for an instant. "Not the time yet however," he muttered as if to himself. "The others must also be here." He folded his arms and laughed softly. "In the meantime, you remain my guest, prince of Eärendil's blood. How fitting that it should be you to restore the Silmarils to me, born of those who kept it from me. But do not get too comfortable, little prince. Once the human boy and your horse-lord companion have been found, it will not be too long that I once again spill the blood of the family of Lúthien. And that of your companions."

Eldarion pulled against the chains fiercely. "Just try it!" he yelled, fury filling him. "Hurt Elboron or Neniel and I will ensure you stay banished to the Shadows until the ending of the world!"

"Ah, human recklessness," Celegorm said. "Beren had it too. It did not serve him well in the end."

"I am not my ancestor," Eldarion snarled, glaring at the foul creature before him. "And I am not my father. I am Eldarion of the House of Telcontar. I am my own man. And I swear now by the Valar that I will see you vanquished."

The Elf just smiled. "Be careful what oaths you make, Eldarion Telcontar. They always come back to haunt you. Just take a look at me to see your future."

Eldarion took one long look, observing the Elf's ruined face, its putrefying flesh. No, this was not his future. He was greater than this thing. He was stronger, he would not allow fear to overcome him. He would fight. And he would win. The prince in Dale remained safe, and Elboron hopefully was now also safe. He would get out of here, and take Neniel with him. This disgusting beast would not succeed. He had complete confidence

* * *

Neniel was alone in her cell. This place was worse than the last. Hot and dusty, yet chilling at the same time. There was no water here. No sweet water to soothe her. Only that distant presence in her mind, that warm, happy mind that so often had embraced her own. That still was here at least.

The weakness that had been growing over her the last several weeks was lessening, a little bit at a time. Almost as if that presence was lifting her out of her slump. Was this the approach of death? Was that presence Mandos himself coming to bring her to his halls? She hoped it was. Then she would see her dear father again.

Her back was pressed up against a rough stone wall, her wrists in chains, legs curled underneath her. Her body ached with the weeks she had spent sitting thus. How she longed to be back in Mirkwood running free under its leaves. Why had she ever wanted anything more from life than such fair pursuits? She could be there even now had she listened to her father. Now he was dead, and she was here, every moment succumbing more and more to darkness. She prayed it would come quickly.

She heard a noise, and turned to see the door of the cell open and a pale figure be thrust inside. The figure, the man, cried in pain as he fell to the ground, and clutched a leg with chained hands. She felt an echo of pain in her own leg, almost as if he man's injury was passing through the air like a disease. How strange.

The man was breathing heavily, and very slowly managed to raise himself into a seated position, grunting in pain. Then he stopped, as if he had heard something from far away. His face went blank, and he turned to look at her. The moment their eyes met, Neniel knew this man was the source of the warm presence in her mind, the one that had been growing stronger in recent weeks, the phantom that kept her company in the long nights. No shadowy presence was he now, but a living breathing creature sitting before her.

In silence they regarded each other. Neniel's mind, so full of darkness and pain, began to lighten as the presence grew stronger. A light grew there, a light she saw reflected in the man's eyes before her. A sense of safety fell over her, and a new courage surged through her veins. She _knew_ this man. How was that possible? The entire situation was ridiculous.

She laughed suddenly, letting her amusement fill her thoughts, let it push away briefly the fears of her heart as she always did in the face of danger. The man's expression lightened as she laughed and a small smile crept over his face. It was a nice face she decided. Young and handsome, noble too. It was a face of someone people could follow, could trust, a face of complete security, both warm and kind. She longed to have that face before her always, for it to be the last thing she would see. After all, death was close by, was it not?

"I am Eldarion," the man said, his voice as pleasant as his face. "Son of Elessar."

"I am Neniel, daughter of Legolas," she responded, her voice cracked with disuse. "A friend to your father, I believe. Strange we have not met until now."

"Yes, very."

"But then, you are not real," she said, smiling softly. "You cannot be."

"And why not?"

"Because the mind makes up many strange thoughts before death," she said. "Thoughts to comfort and protect. What else could you be but a phantom to keep me company until death takes me? I know you, Eldarion, though I have not met you before now. That proves to me you are nothing but a ghost of my mind."

"It's a long story," Eldarion said, inching closer. "But I promise you, I am real. I will get you out of here, Neniel. I will take you to your father. We will both survive this."

She laughed sadly. "Now I know for certain you are not real. My father is dead. I saw him fall in Mirkwood."

"He lives still. He is searching for you."

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, tears welling up behind her eyelids. She fought the weariness inside her, the urge to give into the darkness. She always did so when she thought of her father. He would not like her like this.

"I cannot believe you," she said, choking on her grief. "You tell me only what I want to hear. He is dead. And soon I go to join him. That is my only comfort."

A hand came to fall on her shoulder and she opened her eyes. The man was right beside her, his body warm and close. His grey eyes were fixed on her, a burning emotion deep inside them. The phantom was very convincing, she thought. Almost like a real person. But this could not be. She could not allow herself to believe it. False hope was worse than any of the tortures the Orcs had bestowed on her the last few months. Her father would have come for her had he been alive. She would not be here now, but safe with him.

She felt tears spilling from her eyes, and then suddenly a wave of shame to let this man see her cry. She did not like to show weakness, but then, what did it matter? This man was only her own mind trying to trick her. Why shouldn't he see her like this?

The man's hand was soothing on her shoulder, his fingers gently running along the exposed skin there, the first gentle touches she had experienced in weeks. She fixed her eyes on his, letting herself be lost in their depths, feeling their minds embrace each other as one. His was as warm as she remembered, comforting and kind. It had been with her so long now. She had heard it speaking in the tunnels on the way here. She had been weak, but reached out to it, hoping to help. It wrapped around her now like a blanket even as the man's hand pulled her closer to him, resting her head against his side.

"Rest, Neniel," he said, whispering softly in her ear. "You have been so strong, do not give in now. You will be safe with me. I promise."

She closed her eyes, letting herself surrender to the warmth of this man, this phantom man, as she sat there side by side with him, his hand over hers, their chains clinking gently. He may not be real, but she did not care. What did it matter if this was an illusion designed to ease her into death? For the first time in weeks, she began to feel as if there was still some light left in the world and this man was the source of it. He shared her fear, he shared her despair, but in him was still a fierce courage, a sense of pride and loyalty. She could be safe with him.

For however long she had left at least. She could have a glimpse once more of far off happiness.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed or would like to see more please let me know :)**


	14. Chapter 13- Lalaith

**A/N:** **Huge thanks to everyone reading this fic! I hope you like this next update. I've included a little bit of explanation in the middle here to explain some of the links with The Silmarillion as I know not everyone has read it.**

* * *

Lalaith

Eldarion's breath came in great shuddering gasps. His body trembled from head to toe in memory of the pain that had just ravaged his flesh. His blood was turned to liquid fire as it surged through his veins and now still was bubbling quietly. He did not know how he was still alive.

Celegorm stood watching as he always did. The Orc that had been torturing him stepped backwards and laid aside his enchanted weapon after a glance at its master. It was still smiling, fresh from the enjoyment of watching Eldarion writhing around in pain. Eldarion tore his eyes away from it and turned to Celegorm. Hours now he had stood there doing nothing but watching the proceedings with a mildly fascinated look in his eye, like a man might watch a dog performing a trick. He had said nothing.

He stepped forwards now, arms folded as he circled Eldarion as he lay on the stone table in the centre of the room bound by his chains. Eldarion tried to watch him, but the Elf slipped in and out of the shadows as easily as the Orcs did. He was more smoke than substance.

"Tell me again, prince," the Elf said quietly. "Where is your friend?"

"I don't know," Eldarion said, his voice hoarse from screaming. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"That would be a mistake." the Elf came into view, face black with fury. "For every day he remains lost countless numbers of your people suffer. Tell me where he is and they will be spared."

"For how long?" spat Eldarion. "Until you decide to rip the world apart in your quest of folly? Not much of a choice."

"We will find him," Celegorm promised him, eyes flashing dangerously. "Him and the Dale brat."

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot that your great mission depends on a mere child." Eldarion laughed hollowly. "A little boy- the solution to all your problems! Powerful, you claim! I wonder if he's even old enough to wipe his own nose."

"You do not understand the power you possess, do you?" Celegorm was smiling now. "I do not understand it myself, but it is far greater than you imagine. And now it is mine. Months it took me and my brother to break that Elf, to ascertain the true extent of her power. It was very revealing indeed. Imagining it combined and multiplied by four … the idea is breath-taking."

The Elf came closer, and his eyes roamed over the length of Eldarion's body in excited anticipation. "The power in you is unlike anything seen before," he whispered, his eyes shining. "The other one demonstrated that. It took me a long time to ensure her power remained weak and under my control, and now I will do the same with you. Do not think to use it again the way you did in Cirith Ungol. Your aptitude with it surprised my brother and I, but we will not be caught out again. The dark sorcery in this place is stronger than the light inside of you."

"You sure about that?" Eldarion growled, glaring at him. "What's to stop us using it again?"

"Magic is the province of the Valar, my young prince," Celegorm said. "It was not meant for creatures of the earth. Use it too much, weaken yourself too greatly and you will destroy yourself in the process. I have ensured that the Elf maiden is too weak to make use of it, and I will ensure the same of you too. After I have determined the extent of its strength."

And before Eldarion could do anything, the Elf had seized the enchanted weapon and brought it to Eldarion's flesh again, reigniting the agonising pain in his bones and blood. He could not stop the screams that tore from his throat, the flailing of his limbs. It was death held in suspense, consuming him entirely. His mind was blank, his senses oblivious to all around him. It went on, and on. He could not bear it. He wanted to die.

He became aware of a warmth in his hand, a flickering light that rested on his palm, a ball of energy that lit up the room. His strength was draining through that light, almost as if the stopper had been pulled out of a bottle. It rushed out of him in a mighty torrent, unceasing, powerful in its flow. He tried to cut it off, end the stream of power, but he could do nothing but lie there and watch.

The light faded, and the pain was gone from his limbs. As Eldarion breathed heavily and retched, shaking violently, the Elf hung over him, eyes aglow with triumph.

"So much magic within you," he said, voice quivering in excitement. "So much power!"

Eldarion felt himself drifting into a blackness beyond his thought. Every inch of his energy seemed to have been drained from his body in the magic that had just been wrenched from him. This was how he was to be controlled then- his magic ripped from him to keep him docile and weak. He wondered that Neniel had endured so many months of this and stayed as strong as she had. He did not now feel confused at her refusal to believe in his existence. Nothing seemed real to him at the present moment.

As his mind wandered, he sought her presence, now so familiar. Weak, but still burning brightly, it was a breath of fresh air in the horrid place. It was a memory of long-ago summer meadows, spring flowers and autumn leaves. It was laughter and joy that had not yet been destroyed by despair. It was of hope not quite quenched entirely. It made him smile.

Another presence was with him, more distant. This one was yet more familiar. It reminded him of his youth, of love and companionship. He trusted that presence, he knew it more intimately than he knew his own mind. It was a bond that could never be broken. He summoned the last part of his strength,

" _Elboron!"_ His call was weak and he did not know if he would be heard before he fell to darkness entirely. Yet try he must. " _Elboron!"_

* * *

"Aragorn!"

Aragorn had been standing with his council by the great fire in his camp when the call came. This was the second day of their march towards Emyn Arnen, and he and his councillors had been debating their next move when Éomer's voice sounded out loudly from the healer's tent. Éowyn and Faramir immediately bent their way in that direction and Aragorn followed a second later, accompanied by most of his council in their worry. Though riding bravely with the army by day side by side with his father, Elboron was still weak and required constant supervision and was watched over by the healers as he slept fitfully.

Upon entering the tent, Aragorn observed Éomer kneeling by his nephew, restraining his arms as they swung wildly, seized by a terrible pain that nothing could prevent. The young man was pale in his sleep, skin glistening in sweat, face contorted in agony. His body was trembling violently. Aragorn's heart constricted in a similar anguish as he looked upon the now too familiar scene. He thought of Eldarion, leagues from here, enduring unimaginable suffering at this very moment and he was unable to do anything about it. He wanted nothing more right now than to run off to Mordor on his own to retrieve his son, rescue him from _this_.

"It started a few moments ago," Éomer said quickly as the boy's parents knelt beside him and reached out to their son. "It's not as bad as last time."

"He's learning to block it out," Aragorn said, also coming closer and examining the young man. "Closing his mind to Eldarion's."

"Not working entirely though, is it?" Faramir asked, his teeth gritted. Aragorn met his eyes and the two exchanged a silent understanding; they both resented this feeling of powerlessness to help save their children from this suffering.

A few minutes passed and then suddenly Elboron went limp, breathing heavily and twitching slightly. He sighed and his eyes flickered open. He gulped and then swiftly sat up straight in bed so quickly everyone was taken by surprise. Éomer grabbed him by his good shoulder and pushed him backwards but Elboron resisted.

"No, uncle, I have to speak," the boy insisted, sitting back up and blinking away his weariness. He looked to Aragorn. "It's Eldarion."

"He's being tortured again," Aragorn said. It was a statement of cold hard fact, but it still caused a spam of concern in his breast and a ripple of unease in the room. He dreaded asking the next question. "What happened?"

"The Elf," Elboron blurted out, his eyes wide. "An Elf like the other one, rotten and foul. Long dark hair, black eyes and a cruel face."

"You _saw_ this?" Éowyn asked.

"Yes, through Eldarion's eyes." Elboron was breathing deeply. "The Elf torturing him … it's Celegorm."

Aragorn froze, his worst fears confirmed. Of all of the Elves of the First Age to be here now, Celegorm and Curufin ... the worst of them all.

"Eldarion tried to contact me," Elboron continued, his voice shaking. "He called out to me before he passed out. The Elf was testing his power, drawing out the magic within him until he had no strength left. It's trying to keep him sedated by draining his power. He's not sure he can escape."

Aragorn clutched the pole behind him, squeezing tightly until his knuckles went white. The thought of his son with magic was frightening enough, but to know that this Elf was torturing him using it was too much. And Eldarion asking for help … his son must truly be in desperate straits to admit to being too weak to do it on his own. His pride had come crashing down before him.

"Then we will have to rescue him ourselves," he said firmly, seeing heads turning towards him. "If he and Neniel are too weak we will have to infiltrate Mordor on our own using those tunnels."

"At least we know he is alive," Merry said. "That the Elf hasn't killed him or Neniel yet."

"He won't, not until we're all together," Elboron said. He frowned and closed his eyes, screwing up his face as though he were trying to remember something important. "Eldarion said something more, but the link was beginning to fade. I'm not sure I understand." He paused a moment. "He needs us all there. Something about … a power within us being united …"

He opened his eyes suddenly, his face drained of colour. "The Silmarils," he breathed. "That was the last thing he said. Something about the Silmarils."

Audible gasps came from the people in the room. Aragorn himself had gone very still. "Are you certain?"

Elboron nodded, and a wave of weariness seemed to come over him then and he fell back onto the bed. His parents looked to Aragorn, their faces grey, but he had no words for them.

"What exactly are the Silmarils?" The assembled people turned to stare at Pippin, who blushed. "I mean, I've heard of them and all, of course. Old Bilbo's songs used to mention them, and I know they're jewels of some sort, but I've never heard the story all in one go. What's so special about them?"

"You're not the only one here less learned in Elven lore, Master Peregrin," Éomer said, and a couple of other people nodded. "I am not entirely ignorant, but the tales of Elves and Men from the First Age are less well known to me than the deeds of the House of Eorl."

Aragorn sighed, and settled himself heavily on a nearby chair, watching everyone else seat themselves similarly, prepared for a long story. Elboron had already drifted away into silent repose, face drawn with the echo of his pain.

"The Silmarils were wrought by Fëanor, the master craftsman in Valinor, before the beginning of the First Age," Aragorn began, in his head remembering the songs and tales of his youth in Rivendell. "In them were captured the light of the Trees, Laurelin the Gold and Telperion the Silver, which illuminated the land of Valinor, fairest of all living things created by the Valar. They were the most prized of the wonders ever crafted by Elves. The Valar themselves hallowed them, and Elbereth herself made it so that nothing evil could touch them. Fëanor was prideful of his creation, wore them openly and flaunted them until he began to distrust his kin and hid them away."

"Melkor, one of the Valar who had fallen to darkness, together with the spider Ungoliant destroyed the Two Trees in an attack. When the Valar asked Fëanor to give up the gems to restore the trees he refused in jealous anger. But then he discovered that Melkor had killed his father and stolen the Silmarils, fleeing to Middle-Earth. Fëanor was filled with rage at Melkor, renamed him Morgoth, and vowed to retrieve the Silmarils. Angry at his belief that the Valar had sought to take the stones from him, he and his seven sons swore an oath to win them back, and to wage war against any of those that would keep them from them. He then led his people to Middle-Earth in pursuit of Morgoth, and many years of darkness and war followed during which many foul deeds were committed in search of these jewels, including the slaughter of their own kin."

Aragorn paused a moment, thinking back over the tales in more detail than he had for a long time, coming now to the parts containing his own ancestors; he had never before believed he or his kin would ever have anything to do with these accused jewels ever again. He continued:

"My ancestors, Beren and Lúthien, recovered one of them, plucked right out of Morgoth's crown by Lúthien's own hand. Together they suffered much pain and loss, but that is a story for another time. Celegorm and Curufin had previously attacked both, trying to force marriage with Lúthien and tried to prevent the two from recovering the stone. They stirred up their brothers and attacked Lúthien's home kingdom of Doriath, which had already been weakened by the Dwarves who killed King Thingol, father of Lúthien in lust for the jewels. This was the Second Kinslaying, and both Curufin and Celegorm fell in the fight, killing Beren and Lúthien's son Dior."

"Elwing was the granddaughter of Beren and Lúthien, and her husband Eärendil took the jewel to Valinor to beg the help of the Valar against Morgoth. They set the jewel in the sky as a star with Eärendil to watch over it. The other two jewels remained with Morgoth until a fight with the Valar Manwë. Two of Fëanor's remaining sons, Maedhros and Maglor, stole them after committing the Third Kinslaying, but the jewels burned in their unworthy hands. Maedhros cast himself and his jewel intro a fiery pit, and Maglor cast his into the sea before he went mad and roamed the shores ever after."

Aragorn finished his tale and no one spoke for an instant. His own mind was abuzz with tales and stories, and he longed for a quiet moment on his own to sit and sort through them all.

"So, are they like the Ring?" Pippin asked, and the room shuddered. "I mean, do they make people go a little bit mad for them? All these wars and deaths over them make it seem that way, like they have a power over people."

"No one can say what effect they may have," Arveldir, Thranduil's advisor, said gravely. "There are none now in Middle-Earth who has laid eyes on one. Even I, though I lived in Doriath at the time of the Kinslaying, never caught a glimpse. They were too jealously guarded."

"Do they have any magical properties?" Éomer asked. "Aside from the fact they are fair to look upon, what is their appeal? Do they give the bearer great power?"

"None that is recorded," Aragorn said. "Precious though they are, they are of little practical use. I surmise that their only value to these Elves is the fulfilment of their Oath so they can finally rest at peace."

"Would that be a bad thing?" Merry asked, frowning. "If they get the Silmarils and move on, wouldn't that solve our problems?"

Aragorn stood and paced the tent, hands pressed closely together. "I fear there is more at work than a simple desire to pass into the next world," he said eventually. "We still do not know why they want the four royals. Their plans are not yet brought to fruition, so we must be ever cautious and prepared for any situation."

"Any chance the other brothers might come back as well? Or Fëanor himself?" Faramir asked from his son's bedside.

"As I said, we must be prepared for anything," Aragorn said. He turned away from the sea of faces to hide his wearied expression. What he wouldn't give for Gandalf right now! Swords and battles he could manage, but magic and supernatural phenomenon were beyond him.

It appeared it was time for him to branch out on his expertise.

* * *

They brought him back after several hours, throwing him into the cell where he collapsed in a heap of rags on the cold, hard floor. He lay there several minutes, breathing deeply, each breath punctuated by the smallest moans of pain. Neniel watched him silently from her position across the room. The dim light in the cell did not allow her to see his face clearly, but that did not matter. Her own mind seemed to know him more intimately than any examination with her eyes would reveal.

Eventually he managed to drag himself upwards and sidle towards her, one leg trailing limply. Small spasms of pain shot through the broken limb at intervals and echoed in Neniel's own leg. He seated himself by her and looked into her face, his eyes clouded with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Neniel smiled, and laid one hand on his shoulder. "It is I that should be asking you."

"I'm fine," he said, though his eyes betrayed his lie. "It is you that I worry for."

"There is no need." Neniel closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall of her cell. "All will be over shortly."

"Don't say that." he inched closer and placed one of his large hands over her own. "All will be right in the end."

"How can it when we are here, and our people are far away?" Neniel asked, her voice growing weaker. "I cannot survive much longer here. I hear death calling to me every moment."

"Then ignore it," he commanded. "You have lasted this long, just tarry a while longer. I will get us out of here, I swear it to you."

"I cannot be saved, son of Elessar," she replied. "You are not real, and my spirit fades. I shall see my father shortly."

In her mind's eyes she saw him then, her father, standing beneath the boughs of Mirkwood with a peaceful serenity on his face. What would she give to be back in those woods again? Or beside the waters of Rhûn, watching the sunlight sparkle off the lapping waves? Many a day had she passed there. The shimmering waters were a blue so deep that no darkness could touch it, the surface still under a cerulean sky, gently turning into rolling ripples the closer they came to shore, breaking on the beach with a sound as clear as the tinkling of a bell. She would never see that wondrous place again, never walk with her father under the cool leaves of Mirkwood.

She remembered well the day she had first truly come to appreciate the power of her dual heritage. Out walking hand in hand with her father under the trees they had come to the forest river to rest. She had lain beside him on the green bank and watched the rolling of the clouds above as they came into view between the green leaves, and listened to the flowing of the stream. Such peace and harmony she had not yet known in her short five years of life, filled only with bickering relatives and royal advisors, stuffy palaces and the shadowy echo of grief for her lost mother. From that moment she had known she was a child of two worlds, belonging to both but never tied to either, no matter how much the Kings of Mirkwood and Rhûn tried to make her choose. She had chosen to forge her own identity then, so confident in herself and her heart. But that same confidence had led her to disaster. So adamant had she been in wishing to defend her home she had risked everything and lost it all. Her father was dead because of her.

Unbidden, she felt tears springing from beneath her closed eyelids. She felt so weak. Her very soul was so fragile it could be blown away in an instant, shattered into a million pieces by the next blow that struck it. Her strength had been sapped by the tortures she had endured at the hands of the Orcs and the two strange Elves.

Two strong arms wrapped around her then, pulling her close and stroking her skin softly, whispering sweet words of Elvish comfort in her ears. She felt safe and warm in those arms, like she had done when her father had embraced her when she dreamed of monsters. But this was not her father, but the strange phantom man that shared her cell. Could it be that her desire for her father had created this vision, someone who too could try and comfort her the way he used to? For the moment she didn't care, but allowed herself to rest there and try to ease her grieved heart.

"Stay strong, Neniel Galadhwen," he whispered to her in Sindarin. "I have felt your mind against mine and I know there is still hope and lightness there. Trust in it. Trust in me."

She longed to do so, but the darkness around her, in the cell and in her heart made that difficult. Hope? She was long bereft of that; the phantom lied. What hope was there in such a situation?

She relaxed into the phantom's arms, breathing slowly and gently, filling her mind with images of home as she had done from the beginning, back when she had the strength to resist her captors. Her father was gone, but her homes were still there, and her people too. What had become of those that had been captured with her? She had stayed strong for them, but ever since they left her fight to survive had weakened. Was it possible she could see them again? As their princess it was her duty to stay alive for them, for all of her kin, for her grandfathers, one now bereft of an heir. As long as they lived so should she.

Resting there with the stranger, she felt a strength begin to grow inside of her. A trace of the Elf-maiden of before was stepping once more in view. She had never before allowed her spirit to be crushed. Would she allow it now? She felt now that her very existence was hanging in the balance; to succumb to peaceful death, or stride forwards into a world of darkness and pain. Would this phantom be the deciding factor in the battle of her mind?

They lay there together for hours, cold bodies becoming warmed by the contact, every second Neniel's mind becoming less fogged and slow. The strength that Curufin and Celegorm had extracted from her over these months was returning to her- how she could not say. The phantom's mind was embracing hers, and she felt his optimism, his fire and fortitude supplement her own. Memories of fair times flooded her mind and lent power to her heart and fire to her veins. A lightness was growing within her, not wavering and weak like the light she had barely maintained these last weeks, but pure and resolute.

They came for him again eventually, and as they dragged him off she could sense the fear inside of him, fear that he was barely the master of. He struggled to conceal it from her, but she saw through it. Their minds were both as one, weren't they?

They tortured him, and she could feel it, there alone in the cell she could feel the pain that was ravishing his body. Such pain … was it truly only an illusion? How could something that felt so real not exist? His energy, his magic was being extracted from as it had been from her and she recoiled in anger. How dare they harm him? How dare they destroy what was pure and good?

As she had done in the tunnels, she reached down deep within herself, where her own power was bubbling pitifully. Very little remained after the daily depletions it had endured, not permitted to grow back to full strength before being drawn again. But it was growing now, whether from her own strength or the combination of hers and the man who had sat with her, she did not know. The new light in her mind was feeding that reserve, filling it more and more until she began to tremble. Not yet fully restored, it nevertheless surged within her and became tangible. He was fading from her mind, succumbing to the ravages of that foul creature. Soon he would as weak as she had been. She had to help him, phantom or no.

With her newly rebuilt strength, she released the power within her, sending it towards his mind as she had done in the tunnels, but now the flow was no trickling stream, but a fast-flowing river. It broke upon his mind like a wave on a stony shore, feeding into his body and soul like medicine which restores a man at death's door. It wasn't much, but it was all she could do.

She ceased the flow and fell back, her breath coming in great shudders, a weakness stealing over her once again. _Now, why did I do that_ , she wondered vaguely. _Wasting my own energy for a man who doesn't exist? It doesn't make sense._

 _But perhaps he_ _is_ _real,_ a quieter part of her mind was saying. _Maybe he is no delusion after all._

The thought made her laugh out loud as she considered the absurdity of the entire situation, almost amusing in its ridiculousness as she debated the existence of a man she had actually spoken to and touched. Would the world ever make sense again?

In the torture chamber on the other side of the tower, she knew that Eldarion could hear her laugh, feel the visions of joy laughing summoned for her. She hoped it would comfort him the same way he had comforted her.

* * *

As the Orcs dragged him back towards the cell after his session with Celegorm, Eldarion lay limp, letting his leg trail on the ground, moaning in pain and drawing quick, shallow breaths. They threw him back into the cell and he cried out in agony, making the Orcs chuckle among themselves and congratulate each other on bringing down such a mighty foe.

But Eldarion was not brought down. Far from it.

As soon as the Orcs' voices faded away, he stood up in the cell, and walked around it, marvelling at the change that had come over him. When he had been taken away his leg had been broken, mangled and twisted out of shape. Now it was restored, and only a shadow of pain still existed there. His limb was not the only healing he had experienced; his body was not as weak as before, the magic that Celegorm had drawn from him had not been his own. While Celegorm thought he was weakening him, he had simply been allowing Eldarion the chance to recover. Far from being weakened into submission, Eldarion found himself stronger than he had been when he entered. And he knew precisely why.

Satisfied with his renewed vigour, he moved to the other end of the cell, where Neniel's pale figure still was curled up in a corner. He lowered himself in front of her, taking her cold hands into his own. Her face was blank, and she appeared asleep. His heart sank and a fear crept inside of him.

"Neniel!"

She opened her eyes as he called, and he relaxed, though still concerned by the fatigue he saw there. She smiled softly and her face brightened.

"You're walking!"

"Thanks to you," Eldarion replied. "How did you do it?"

Her eyes drifted to the side. "I'm not sure exactly. I just … did it."

"But why?" he pressed, leaning closer, clutching her hands tighter. "Why share your strength with me when you have so little of your own?"

"Because you had greater need of it," she said, looking at him as if he were a simpleton. She frowned. "What use could I put it to? I had too little to try and help myself with it; my body requires a great deal more than that to recover. But little though I had, it could serve you better, allow you to keep the strength you have and not surrender it to Celegorm." She sighed and fixed her eyes on his, youthful eyes darkened with much turmoil. "I did not want you to suffer as I did."

Eldarion could not respond to this for a moment, too moved was he. He swallowed and looked down at their hands, searching for the words he wanted to say.

"I am beyond grateful to you, princess," he said eventually. "To sacrifice so much for a stranger."

"You do not seem as a stranger to me." Neniel smiled again, making him smile back in return. "I feel as if I have known you all my life. Does that not sound strange?"

"Not to me," Eldarion said wryly, thinking of the way he also had been feeling towards her for so long. "I feel likewise. This bond between us … I cannot explain it."

"I can, phantom," she said, closing her eyes. "We are one, mind, body and soul. You are simply an extension of my own being."

Eldarion looked at her, eyes roaming over her fair face, made hollow and gaunt by her torment, and a new feeling stirred within his breast. "I believe you are right, but not in the way you think."

Neniel opened her eyes and she laughed. As she did so, a light sprang into her eyes, and the room seemed then to be bathed in a warm glow. He felt a new strength surge through his veins and his heart unburdened itself under the force of that laugh, the same laugh that had made the painful torture at Celegorm's hands almost bearable.

He smiled, and sat down fully on the floor before her, still cradling her hands in his own. "I like it when you laugh," he said to her, eyes fixed on hers. "Like a stream of clear water flowing merrily beneath the stars. It reminds me of fairer times."

"I too, and that is why I do it," she replied. Her eyes were lost in memory. "I have never taken life too seriously. I love to laugh, or at least, I used to. It makes the whole world seem brighter. I laugh whenever I can."

He laughed in return, entranced by the repressed memories of joy that were leaking from her mind into his, as yet still untinged by shadow.

"Then I name you _Lalaith_ ," he said softly, a smile on his lips. "Laughter. For one such as you should have such a name."

She smiled, and a look of peace came over her face. "Lalaith ... they say my mother was once called thus …" her voice faded away, but not from grief, but fond remembrance. "Call me what you wish. It does not matter what a fantasy names me."

Eldarion chuckled, and rubbed his hands over hers, trying to bring back some warmth to them. "What will it take for me to prove to you that I am no fantasy?"

"Place me in the arms of my father," she said, watching his hands as they moved over hers. "You say that he is still alive. Take me to him and then I shall know that you are real."

He ceased rubbing her hands and looked up at her, fixing her with his eyes. Inexplicably, he found himself raising her fingers to his lips and kissing them gently. "I shall do what you ask," he said, keeping her hands raised. "I swear it to you. Then you shall see me for the man of flesh and blood that I am."

She moved her own fingers then, wrapping them around his and she smiled again. "I look forward to it."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked! Feedback is always appreciated!**

 **Name Translations (OCs)**

 **Lalaith- Laughter (Sindarin)**


	15. Chapter 15- A Star in the Night

A Star in the Night

Ithilien looked the same as ever to Elboron's eyes. Fair and green, the air rich with pungent aromas of herbs and flowers that grew wild on its hills, it was in his opinion the most beautiful place in Middle Earth; it was his home.

Yet now as he rode through it in Elessar's company he could not recognise the place as the land he had grown up in. Visibly unchanged though it was, evil had walked here and left its mark. Every shade cast by a tree which once may have been a cool refuge from the sun was now a formidable shadow from which an enemy could spring. The quiet land which was once peaceful now was an ominous presence, like the breath before a storm. Even the fair green grass seemed to shine now with the unearthly, deathlike gleam of Morgul.

His father rode by his side, more closely than was strictly necessary as Elboron had greatly recovered much of his strength in the last three days. He glanced at his son at regular intervals, keeping an almost annoyingly close eye on him. When their eyes met on one of these surreptitious glances, Elboron raised his eyebrows at him.

"I am well again, father," he said with a small smile. "There is no need to watch me so closely."

His father did not believe him. He shook his head. "You are far from well, Elboron," he said, sighing. "I can see your struggles."

"They are not worse than the struggles than Eldarion and Neniel are going through," Elboron said quietly, looking to Elessar and Legolas who were riding together at the front of the company.

"Are you still experiencing their pain?" his father asked. Elboron shook his head.

"I know how they're feeling, and when Eldarion is being tortured-" Elboron paused a moment as he said this word "-I know about it. It isn't the same pain as before, more like an ache in my limbs. And for Neniel, she's fading more and more each day, her life force is growing dimmer. She is afraid, and so is he."

"Not for much longer," his father said firmly. "We will rescue them."

"And then what?" Elboron asked, voicing his fears and staring down at the reins in his hands. "How will we find out what has linked us all together? What if this magic continues to grow and none of us know how to prevent it or control it? When Eldarion used it to help me in that ambush, it could have killed him. And in the tunnels too, Neniel almost wore herself out entirely."

"I have no solid answers for you, my son, save this," his father said, moving closer and forcing Elboron to look at him. "I put my trust in Elessar, and so should you. He is a man of great wisdom, and the Elves too possess much greater knowledge than we mortals. A solution shall be found, and all will one day be well again."

"How can you be sure?" Elboron asked, shamefully realising just how frightened he sounded. _He always was such a coward._

His father smiled, and his face then appeared several years younger, free for a moment from the shadow that had fallen over it in recent times.

"I know it because I have seen it," he said. "Right where we are now was once the land of the Enemy. Years ago, when I was not much older than you are now, I saw this land being covered with darkness. All was dead or dying and I could see no hope of deliverance. But the darkness passed, and in no small part due to the man who leads us now. He saved us then, and will do so again. He will not allow his son to perish in Mordor, nor will he allow the children of his friends to continue suffering. Trust in him as I do."

Elboron wanted nothing more than to have the same faith as his father, but found himself wanting. Elessar was a great man, that he knew, that he had seen for himself, but against such an evil, who could prevail? Great Elven warriors of old had fallen to the sons of Fëanor in their quest for the Silmarils, warriors stronger, wiser and older than Elessar. Could even he be defeated by them? Against such an evil as this, who could say what would happen?

His conversation with his father trailed off as the narrowing on the path they were on forced them to go single file. He stared straight ahead at his father's back before him and tried to imagine him at his own age. He had been a younger son, one not favoured by his father. Had he experienced the same doubts and uncertainties as Elboron did? The feeling that he would never be good enough? Never live up to the men who had come before him, be relegated to obscurity?

Eldarion was in Mordor at this very moment enduring daily torture, yet still searching for a way to rescue himself and Neniel from his prison; Elboron could sense the other man's determination and self-belief. He had always had such confidence in himself and his abilities. He was the brave one, the one who would sacrifice anything for others. What had Elboron done in this fight? He had served as little more than a messenger boy, informing the others about events and people far away as he were some sort of signalman operating a beacon. Though neither of them showed it, Elboron wondered secretly whether or not Elessar or Legolas did not resent him for being the one to escape and not their own children. Both were far more worthy and valuable than himself.

The day had grown old as they rode and eventually Elessar called a stop to the company to set up camp for the evening. Soldiers worked quickly to set up tents and erect a temporary barricade around the camp using whatever was at hand, rocks, fallen logs and even mounds of turf. They stationed themselves around the camp with swords drawn, eyes peeled for the slightest movement from the shadows. As always when they prepared for camp, his parents stuck to his side like briar. Three especially assigned guards were on him at all times; Elessar was taking no chances that he be taken again. The camp was filled by so many torches and flames it was almost as bright as day. His parents retreated to the tent the three of them shared at nights while Elboron sat outside, still surrounded by his guards, who stood at a distance of about ten feet in every direction, hands permanently upon the hilts of their swords.

From his position on top of a small rise, Elboron had an excellent view of the entire camp. Elessar's tent was in the direct centre and Elboron found his gaze being directed there after noticing the figures standing outside it. The king was deep in counsel with Elladan and Elrohir, the Elven twins, and their faces were grey. Elboron wondered what they said, whether or not they knew something more about these new Elven enemies than they had at first revealed. They after all were closely linked with the whole affair. As Elboron watched, he saw Elessar raise his eyes heavenward and fix them there, staring into the blue abyss above, eyes shining with the reflected light of the stars. He seemed lost in thought, and his noble face looked neither young nor old in the light of those stars. A peace seemed to wash over him and he closed his eyes, lips muttering in an inaudible prayer.

Elboron looked skywards too and soon lost himself by tracing patterns in the blackness, lingering on each star, recalling its name from his schooling in Minas Tirith, repeating it to himself in Westron, Rohirric and Elvish. The exercise was oddly relaxing and he felt the tension in his chest ease somewhat. He understood precisely why the Elves revered the stars so much and why Elbereth, the Vala responsible for their creation was so beloved.

As he scanned the sky his eyes alighted upon one star in particular and he hesitated, glancing back at Elessar, thinking that this star was the reason he had supplicated the heavens. Eärendil, the most beloved of the stars among the Elves, ancestor to Elessar and also to Eldarion, through both his father and his mother. The Elven twins were also looking to this star now; their grandfather, who sailed across the night sky with a Silmaril bound across his brow.

For the first time since he had heard the story Elboron really began to think it through. The light he was looking upon them now was the Silmaril itself, that jewel which had been plucked from Morgoth's crown by Lúthien, survived being eaten by the evil hound Carcharoth, the jewel that had caused the deaths of so many. Yet so beautiful … Were Curufin and Celegorm really trying to unite the Silmarils once more? How could that be possible when they were so scattered? Did they think it possible to snatch it from the sky itself?

"Touch of stargazing, my lord?"

Elboron jumped as he realised Sam was standing at his side. Not for the first time he marvelled at the stealthiness of Hobbits. The Shire's Mayor came closer, having been allowed to slip past the guards by way of his standing with the king. He was dressed in the livery of Gondor and had his old Barrow sword slung at his hip, though Elboron knew the Hobbit was no fighter at heart. This made his courage all the more admirable. It put Elboron's to shame.

"I was contemplating the story of the Silmaril, Sam," Elboron said, patting the ground beside him to invite the Hobbit to seat himself. He always enjoyed the Hobbit's company; the race of cheerful storytellers were very dear to him, having grown up with Sam, Merry and Pippin constantly coming and going from Minas Tirith with their families, thinking them a people after his own heart with their love of tranquillity for its own sake and of story and song. His daughter Elanor too had been a companion to Elboron and Eldarion in her turn, often covering for them during their most mischievous pranks in the royal household. All Hobbits seemed to have a love of mischief, or at least of merrymaking, and she was no exception. He longed to visit their land but Elessar's decree that none of the Big Folk would ever enter the Shire again after the terrible events there prevented him; even Elessar himself abided by the decree and met his friends at the border whenever he travelled north.

"I remember some tales of that sort," Sam said, making himself comfortable on the grass. "Old Mr Bilbo wrote a tale of Eärendil that he recited in Rivendell before we set out on our Fellowship. It was thought pretty bold of him considering it was Elrond's father that he was writing about, but Lord Elrond seemed to like it."

"It was Eärendil I was thinking of," Elboron said, looking back up at the star. "In his possession lies one of the three, the other two consigned to the earth and the sea. What Celegorm and Curufin have in mind for them … I cannot guess."

"Nor can I, such matters are rather too far above me," Sam admitted. "But it seems to me that we're all in need of some guidance from those ancient times, and there are too few of those that lived through them around now. If only Mr Gandalf, or the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien were still here! Lady Galadriel would know of the Silmarils surely."

"Indeed, it was her uncle that forged them, and it was said he drew inspiration from the golden light of her hair," Elboron said. "But I doubt even she would know what to do in this situation."

"Maybe not, but I'd like to have her and the others here all the same." Sam sighed heavily. His eyes bent upwards. "I can't help but be put in mind of the last time I thought of Eärendil," he said softly. "Mr Frodo was given the Phial of Galadriel, which contained the light of Eärendil within it. Without it, both of us would have perished in Shelob's Lair. The Silmaril saved us, I suppose. Their power must have good in it somehow, even if people have done such evil things in their name."

"I never thought of it like that," Elboron said, staring at the hobbit. "Eärendil saved you."

"That he did," Sam nodded. "I only hope he can somehow save that great-grandson of his. The Phial of Galadriel would come in mighty handy for him right about now."

Elboron said nothing to this, and sat in silence with Sam several more minutes before the Hobbit decided to turn in. Lost in thought, Elboron was barely aware of the world around him, not noticing his parents leading him to the tent and setting him down on a bed there. Seeing symptoms which were now familiar after several days they thought him now somehow mixed up in the thoughts of the others, fighting his way through a haze of foreign emotion and ideas, but Elboron was fully in his own mind for a change. An idea had come to him, and he ran it over again and again as he tried to make sense of it.

Thus far he had done nothing to help Eldarion and Neniel. He had taken advantage of their sacrifice to save himself, endured their pain without being able to do anything to end it and he was sick of it. He needed to do something, and this crazy idea he was forming in his head might be just what they needed.

He lay back on his blankets, closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Eldarion, breaking down the barriers he had been erecting the last few days. He hadn't heard anything from him in ages, and their last communication had been patchy at best. Their technique was unrefined and unreliable at the best of times, and now with added distance and weakened states of mind it was proving extremely difficult to talk to each other. Only feelings seemed as strong as ever.

The barrier began to weaken, and Eldarion and Neniel's sense of pain and weakness began to grow stronger in his own consciousness, but Elboron did not falter. A new determination was within him now, emboldened by the light of the stars. He could not afford to linger on thoughts of his own inadequacies when his comrades were in danger. He needed to prove himself worthy of the sacrifice they had made for him.

" _Eldarion! Can you hear me?"_ he called desperately, expending every iota of strength he could manage. " _Eldarion!"_

There was nothing but silence.

" _Eldarion!"_ he called again, refusing to give up. " _Please! Listen to me! Eärendil! Think about Eärendil!"_

A small light began to grow inside Elboron's mind, a light that seemed warm and familiar. It was flickering and unstable, yet from it Elboron could sense another presence which appeared to be responding to his call. Was this Eldarion? It mattered not. The next moment Elboron had thrown everything he had along that link, shouting out with his mind what his plan was, praying desperately that Eldarion would hear it. As he did so, he himself grew weaker and weaker until the darkness swallowed him entirely.

* * *

When Eldarion awoke, it took several moments for him to make sense of his thoughts. The cold wall of the dungeon he was huddled against, the foul smell in the air and the aching hunger in his belly served to ground him sufficiently to begin to recover. He frowned as he forced himself into a seating position, hand raised to massage the aching temples on his brow. He felt as if he had just emerged one of his father's grand banquets back home where hundreds of loud voices reverberated around a large chamber in a growing cacophony, threads of dozens of conversations flitting through his mind.

But it wasn't like those banquets, there was only one conversation in his mind and it was beginning to leak away like water caught in a pair of hands even as he fought desperately to cling onto it. He screwed up his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all other distractions to focus on that one voice.

It was Elboron's, he determined. Elboron had tried to contact him last night, but why? They'd given up before now when they'd both realised it took too much energy to keep up a mental link and Eldarion had tried to close it to spare his friend from sharing his torment. What would cause Elboron to expose himself to that again?

The voice was coming to him, quiet, like its owner, but with no less determination. " _Eldarion!" it had cried. "Eärendil! Remember Eärendil. He can save you!"_

Eldarion opened his eyes, frustrated as he details continued to fade. Eärendil? What on earth was his friend talking about? How could his ancestor help him here in this cell? He was in the heavens themselves, too far away to lend any aid. He must have mistaken Elboron's message, or it had become corrupted in transmission. Either that or his friend really was just too intelligent for the prince. Was he missing something that was painfully obvious?

Neniel was asleep a few inches away curled up at the bottom of the wall. Her breathing was painfully slow. He watched her for a moment, every moment fearing her breathing would stop. He immediately decided against waking her to discuss this development.

Eldarion stood and began to pace the cell, trying to restore some warmth to his limbs and revitalise his brain. Elboron had to have a good reason for suggesting Eärendil and risking so much to contact him. He had to figure it out. For not the first time in his life he envied his friend's mind; so shrewd, wise and full of intellect. He had made some sort of discovery that eluded Eldarion, much as he had always done since they had both sat at a too large table in Minas Tirith to learn their letters for the first time all those years ago. Straining his brain as much as he could did not however offer him any sudden realisation. It all came back to one point: Eärendil was not in Middle-Earth, but high above it. What aid could he lend?

Eldarion crossed the cell to the tiny window that looked out over Mordor. He had avoided looking from this spot since their first day here. He had no desire to see the evil land in which he was confined. Even now he lifted his eyes away from the ashy plains and looked to the heavens. Dawn had not yet come and the sky was still dark, a sprinkling of stars still dotted against the inky blackness. His eyes went to the brightest of those stars, to Eärendil, and he wondered if Elboron was also looking at it now. What did that far distant star have to do with this situation?

He stood and watched the star for several minutes, lost in the brilliance of its light. So pure and wondrous, it was hard to remember that this light was caused by one of the objects that were the direct reason for his current imprisonment. Was Celegorm truly so mad as to think he could reach that stone? True, its light could be captured, but the jewel itself …

Eldarion stiffened, and his heart began to beat a little quicker. The stories of Samwise Gamgee flooded back to him. The light of Eärendil had been used before against the soldiers of the Enemy … could it be done again?

A new plan had formulated now, and his breathing grew faster as he ran it over again and again in his mind. Such as thing could be possible if he timed it right. Surely it would work? But it would be risky …

He paused and looked towards Neniel, doubt gnawing at him. Could she survive an escape attempt? As he drew closer and saw the thinness of her body and the way she trembled as she slept, he made up his mind. Escape may kill her, but remaining here most certainly would. He had to risk it.

Eldarion crouched down in front of her and gently shook her awake. She frowned as she opened her eyes.

"We're getting out of here, Lalaith," he whispered, offering her a hopefully reassuring smile.

She said nothing, but Eldarion saw the scepticism in her eyes. He stood up once more and looked out of the window and focused his eyes on Eärendil and the Silmaril. A part of him recoiled at what he had to do next; pleas for help were not his specialty, but he had Neniel to think of. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let the link with Neniel and Elboron wash over him, giving him the strength to do what he must. Their minds with his spurred him onwards, a new fire was in his veins.

"Honoured ancestor, help me now," he murmured in Sindarin, swallowing what he could of his pride. "I ask for your light and your strength to guide me in the name of Elbereth and the Valar. Help me." He was unsure whether what he was doing was right or not, but he had to try anyway. But then he thought about the Phial of Galadriel which had saved Sam and Frodo, and then about this prophecy concerning him. The light of the Silmaril _had_ to be the answer.

On the surface, nothing happened, but after a moment, Eldarion thought he could feel a new light growing inside of him, a warm light that was both familiar and foreign to him. Strength was returning to his limbs and a fire to his heart. The star on the horizon seemed to grow brighter for a second. It was all Eldarion needed for confirmation.

"Hey!" he yelled as loud as he could, banging on the cell door. "Get back here you miserable maggots! I demand to see Celegorm!"

For a few dreadful moments, during which Eldarion continued shouting and banging, he thought no one was coming. Eventually however, he heard the now familiar stamping of Orc feet approaching the cell. He immediately ceased banging and retreated to the other side of the cell, poised in a position that would allow him the greatest advantage. The light of Eärendil was still streaming in through the window and illuminating a small patch on the stone floor in front of the door. The Orc stopped outside of the cell and Eldarion held his breath.

"What you making that racket for?" the Orc demanded in grotesquely mutated Sindarin. "Pipe down or we'll run you through!"

"I doubt Celegorm would appreciate that," Eldarion said calmly, heart hammering. "I need to see him."

"The Boss decides when he sees you, not the other way around. Shut up now unless you want your other leg broken."

"I have information!" Eldarion cried, flooded with panic as the Orc began to move away. "It's about the Silmarils! I can help him to find them."

His ruse worked, and he heard the Orc pause in the corridor and then march back, its ragged breathing ominously loud beyond the door. "Careful what you say, princeling," the voice spat. "The Boss has many horrors in store for you yet. Wouldn't want to hurry them along, now would you?"

"I don't want to be hurt again!" Eldarion shouted out, feigning a note of terror to his voice. "Please, just take me to him. I'll tell him everything he wants to know."

"That you will soon enough. Not now."

"You really want to be the one to tell him you had information about the Silmarils that you kept from him?" Eldarion asked, beginning to fear now that his plan would not work. "Think he would be pleased?"

"I am no fool boy-"

"Please!" Eldarion was desperate now. "I can't stand this any longer! The Elf, she's dying. She might not last the night. Take me to him, please! I'll tell him everything!"

The Orc hesitated so long Eldarion began to think he had snuck off along the corridor and he had failed. The silence was deafening. But eventually he heard the harsh voice once more, the excitement in his tone palpable.

"Against the back wall!" the Orc commanded. "Don't try anything or I _will_ break that other leg." _  
_

Barely in time Eldarion remembered that his leg was supposed to be broken, and he hastily sunk to the floor against the back wall by Neniel's side and clutched his leg as the key rattled in the lock and the door clanged open. An enormous Orc stood in the doorway, sword in its hand, small beady eyes surveying the room suspiciously. They fell onto the two prone forms and they gleamed in glee. The sense of anticipation emanating from the foul creature was almost tangible. It knew rich rewards would be awaiting it.

Driven by greed, the Orc barged into the cell, still clutching the sword and approached the two people with no hesitation. As the Orc drew closer, it passed into the square of light that was on the floor. The moment its rough shod foot crossed into the light the Orc squealed in agony and withdrew immediately, falling back against the cell wall and reeling as if it had been burned with fire. Eldarion wasted no time, but leapt up and himself stood in the path of starlight.

" _Aiya Eärendil, elenion ancalima!_ _"_ he cried, recalling the words once said by Sam in Cirith Ungol, and again, unknown by him, by Elboron in the same place only recently during his own escape.

He felt the light of Eärendil on his skin, bathing him in a sea of fierce power and a glow seemed to come from his chest, falling upon the Orc which writhed in pain before finally disappearing before his eyes leaving nothing but a shadow against the wall and a pile of ashes on the ground.

Eldarion stood breathing heavily for a few moments, the power of Eärendil seeming to hum from inside him, fiery energy coursing through his veins. His hands were trembling. The weakness that accompanied magic was somehow absent. Was he getting better at it? Or was it simply that the magic had not been his own, but that of his ancestor's? He wasted no time in figuring it out.

Neniel had not moved from her spot, so Eldarion turned around and stooped in order to scoop her up in his arms, stunned by how slight she was. Her long hair hung freely in a curtain of black. She barely stirred, only opening her eyes to gaze at him with an unasked question.

"We're leaving," he said to her, carrying her to the gaping door, stopping only to grab the Orc's dropped sword and stowing it awkwardly under one elbow. "I'll get you out of here."

"Leave me," he heard her murmur softly. "I'll slow you down."

"I can't do that," he said as they emerged into the deserted corridor and he listened for approaching enemies. "We're bound together, you and I. I could no more leave you, Lalaith, than I could my own legs."

"Eldarion …"

He cut off her protest by giving her a gentle shake as he quickened his pace and hurried to where he remembered a staircase being. "Hush, Lalaith. It's time to go to your father now. Just as I promised."

* * *

Celegorm stood alone in his chambers and looked out across the land of Mordor in the dim light that came before dawn. He could hear the screams of his Shadow Orcs echoing around the old fortress. Each time they passed a window, the light of Eärendil smote them down, sending their shadowy forms fleeing into the darkness, evaporating into the air like smoke from an extinguished candle. Celegorm himself stood back from the window, avoiding the patch of light on the floor before him and hid in the darkness. His eyes remained fixed on the star, and his body trembled in fury.

He knew by now that the Elf maiden and the young prince had escaped, and he knew how. For some reason, the light of the Silmaril had reawakened to its fullest glory, and its power had been usurped by that _thief_ in aid of his kin. It burned brightly in the sky, illuminating the land of Mordor so brightly it was almost daylight. Light of star and moon had not hindered his Orcs thus far, only the brightness of the sun had defeated them, but now, for this night at least, Eärendil shone as brightly as the sun and destroyed all shadowed beings that passed underneath it. The two royals were gone and could not be pursued this night, nor the following day while the sun shone.

Celegorm glared at the star, at once so hated and beloved. Fair it was, and his heart was filled with the longing to possess it, to reach out and pluck it from the sky. Yet at the same time he wished to turn from it and banish it from his sight forever. Cruel fate had ever conspired against him. Near and yet far. In sight, yet eternally out of reach.

He turned from the window and paced his chamber, memories of long-lost days flashing before his eyes. That accursed oath! So foolishly had he rushed into that declaration in his youth. The seven sons of Fëanor honour bound to retrieve the stolen jewels while they lived, and then still after death. Millennia he had lingered in the shadows, ever beyond the veil of the world, unable to journey forwards or back. Stuck in one place, ever doomed to the fulfilment of his oath.

Celegorm cursed Eärendil, he cursed the Silmarils, he cursed his father … he cursed the doom that had been lain on him and his brothers. How he hated them, how he hated himself. He cursed Morgoth, the original thief of the jewels. Who would have thought he would ever be reduced to living here in the land of Morgoth's lesser Lieutenant, foraging on the scraps he had left behind him, forced to employ the foul creatures Morgoth had created?

Once so mighty, how hard had he fallen. Kinslayer. Traitor. Colluder with Orcs. All for the sake of the Silmarils.

The door to his chambers creaked open and in entered Curufin, newly arrived from Minas Morgul. His face was as thunderous as his own.

"That disgusting _Half-Elf_!"his brother cried, gesturing to the open window where the light of Eärendil still spilled in. "Trapped in this accursed fortress while our quarry flees! How dare he use the light of _our_ Silmaril against us? The audacity!"

"I quite agree," Celegorm said, ceasing his pacing and leaning against a pillar, surveying his brother. "He shall pay for such audacity, as shall his descendants. Every last one of them. They shall pay for keeping the Silmaril from us."

"We must go after them," Curufin said, stepping closer. "We spent too long capturing them to allow them to escape now."

"We cannot move from this place until Eärendil has ceased his onslaught," Celegorm said, his voice tight. "And then when the sun rises, we shall also be trapped."

"The sun never shines brightly in Mordor."

"No, but the slightest ray will destroy our soldiers," Celegorm spat, impatiently. "We do not have time to wait for them to reform. We cannot trust to clouds."

"But we have time to wait an entire day to begin the pursuit?"

"What else can we do, brother?" Celegorm said, moving closer and fixing the other Elf with a glare that made him retreat in fear. "Rest assured, they shall be recaptured and they shall suffer worse than before. We have waited millennia for this, a little longer will not matter. They are weakened, remember? We are closer than we have ever been to ending this eternal torment. _We will succeed_."

"Weak, are they?" Curufin raised an eyebrow. "How did they have the strength to leave then? And what of that magic they displayed in Cirith Ungol? There is more to them than we know. Remember the prophecy-"

"They are children!" Celegorm roared, and his brother recoiled. "Four inexperienced, coddled royal children. They will not thwart us, the sons of the great Fëanor, born of Valinor. I will not permit it."

He glared at his brother a moment longer, seeing the wariness in the other's eyes. It was up to him, it always was to be the strongest. Their other brothers stayed in the shadows, ashamed of their actions and now it was only he who could stay strong enough to see their task through after all these years. He turned away in disgust.

Celegorm cast one last look back at Eärendil, whose light was now beginning to fade as dawn approached fully. The countdown was now beginning. How far could two weakened creatures travel in one day? Not far. And where could they go? Cirith Ungol? They were trapped. And when they were caught, he would make sure they could not run again.

He clenched his fists together as he glared at that hateful star. What would he give now that he had never made that Oath? But as it was, he remained bound by it, trapped by the promises he had made to his father in the name of the Valar. Where was he now, the illustrious Fëanor? Where was he while his sons toiled in his name to restore his property? In the Halls of Mandos no doubt, oblivious to the Doom he had laid on his children. Where was the help _he_ was offering to his descendants?

The first red glow of the sun had now peeked over the Shadow Mountains surrounding Mordor and Celegorm retreated fully from the window, ignoring his brother. The sooner this foul mission was complete, the better. He had suffered too long and too hard to give up now.


	16. Chapter 15- Flight from Mordor

Eldarion's breath came in painful gasps as he steadily thrust one foot in front of the other, harsh rocks cutting through the soles of his shoes. He could not stop, he had to continue. The light from Eärendil which had sustained him thus far had now vanished from the sky and with it, all strength seemed to be leaking from his body.

An entire night's trek had brought him into the shadows of the Gorgoroth mountains. Upon leaving the fortress through a side gate abandoned by the Orc guards in the face of the agonising light of the star above, he had finally recognised the place as being one of the watchtowers his father had built along the borders of the country to guard against evil. The irony was not lost on him. His father's tours of Mordor on which Eldarion had sometimes accompanied him had occasionally ventured this far into the formidable land, and though Eldarion had tried to banish all memory of the terrible place, his father's careful drills had not allowed him to. To his mind, as fresh as the day as he had been taught them, came the maps he had spent hours poring over with his father, every detail, every mountain, distance marker, landmark; practically every rock was familiar to him as his own home city. Immediately upon leaving the fortress he had struck out on the path he knew would eventually lead him to one of his father's tunnels which he could sneak through into Ithilien.

Dawn was now breaking, though little light was coming through the dark clouds above them. Eldarion did not halt, not trusting that the coming of day would prevent pursuit. He remembered well the tales of the former Orcs of Mordor that walked in the day under the clouds of Sauron.

At his side Neniel walked beside him, staggering and swaying in fatigue. After carrying her half the night, she had begged to be set down to ease his burden and he had complied, but they hardly made much more headway than before. Months of confinement had weakened her limbs and every moment brought a fear she would collapse completely. Her eyes were closed and her face pale. She walked as if she were asleep.

His own weariness fought to overcome him, but he pushed past it, not faltering in his pace. He was Eldarion of the House of Telcontar, Strider in the Common Tongue. He must live up to his namesake and become one of the Rangers of Old. Wingfoot was what King Éomer had once named his father after he, Legolas and Gimli had flown across distant leagues to rescue Merry and Pippin. He and Neniel must now echo their fathers' feats.

The land was craggy and split with many shallow gorges which they had scrambled up and down all night as they drew closer to the shelter of the mountains. Eldarion prayed their erratic path had not been observed from the watch tower, but knew this could not be certain. Every shadow in every gorge, the caves in the approaching mountains were evil to him. Every moment he expected Orcs to issue forth and surround them. He did not know enough about his Enemy to predict their actions. Could they move through shadows during the day? Could the smallest of shadows be enough to allow them access? How could they be tracked in such a way? So many unanswered questions. To be safe, he avoided every shadow he could, no matter how small, though it slowed his pace somewhat.

He was armed only with the short sword he had taken from the Orc guard, and all else he bore was a small pack he had found in a small storeroom on the way to the main gate with Neniel. It did not look Orcish and so he surmised it had been left by one of his father's men. Whether it contained anything of use he did not know; he had not stopped long enough to look.

He licked his cracked lips and again scolded himself for not spending a few moments trying to source some water. He did not trust any running water he discovered in the gorges they were traversing, and the dry, ashy air was filling his lungs and mouth with unpleasant tastes and textures. He could not remember when he had last drunk anything.

He kept his eyes downward, focusing on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. He longed to try and contact Elboron, but knew he had not the energy for it. He had energy for little else than walking. If they were to be ambushed …

Neniel stopped suddenly at his side, and he turned to her in alarm, fearful she was succumbing to weariness. But Neniel stood still and stared straight ahead, her eyes wide and blinking as if unbelieving.

"A tunnel," she said softly. "There is a tunnel out of this foul land, unless my eyes deceive me."

Eldarion followed her gaze and laughed aloud, the sound foreign in this land. "You are not, I am glad to say. That is the tunnel we have been aiming for, built by my father. On the other side lies Ithilien."

She swayed a moment and then she too laughed. She looked at him sidelong and he saw a small smile on her lips.

He smiled back and looked back at the tunnel. It lay at the foot of a gorge that led directly into the mountains and was almost entirely concealed by large boulders and overlapping shoulders of rock. Hidden to all aside from those who specifically knew where to look for it. Eldarion had never seen a more pleasant sight.

"Come on," he said, and reached out to take her hand, leading them both inside the darkness of the tunnel.

The cold wrapped around him immediately and he felt his very bones quivering inside of him. The dark was absolute, and with his free hand he stretched out as far as he could until he met the damp, crudely carved wall of the tunnel. His heart was thumping fast, his excitement at being rid of this land greater than his fear that any Orcs would jump out at them from the shadows. His feet began to quicken as he plunged headlong into the unknown. His hand grew tighter around Neniel's as he led her on, hearing the shuffling of her feet behind him as she struggled to keep up.

How long they continued along that tunnel he could not accurately say. Robbed of the daylight to measure the passing of time, he could only count in heartbeats, the steady drops of water from the ceiling. Eventually his thirst grew so great he permitted himself and Neniel to take a few drops of these to wet their mouths, and though they gagged on the taste, he immediately felt a little stronger. They continued on and on, Eldarion's hand still tracing the side of the passage as the tunnel went deeper and deeper. Drafts of cold air wafted up the tunnel lending them welcome fresh air from the stuffiness of the tunnel. Neniel grew closer to him as the hours wore on, and she eventually had both hands on his arm, both guiding and supporting her, though she never once opened her mouth to complain or beg a rest. She was resolute as iron.

Just when Eldarion himself thought he would collapse from lack of sleep he suddenly noticed a wafting of fragrant air coming along the tunnel. He gripped Neniel's arm.

"I think we have come to the end," he said, practically pulling her along. "Finally, we will be free of this place."

"I can hardly wait," she said, her voice barely audible above his own heavy breathing.

The last few feet had them both practically running blindly along the tunnel, racing towards the fresh air and pleasant aromas of the land beyond the mountains. The cold damp of the tunnel drew away behind them and within a few joyous moments they found themselves running on grass beneath silver trees, a fresh breeze upon their skin.

Eldarion felt his legs crumple beneath him and he fell upon a soft bank, resting his wearied limbs, breathing in the scents around him, so pure and clean, feeling them almost cleansing away the foulness of Mordor. He closed his eyes and let himself drift for a moment, and focused on nothing but his own breathing for a few moments. Not until his heartbeat had slowed to a slow drumming did he open his eyes.

Neniel had come to a rest beside him and still lay upon the grass, her eyes closed in a peaceful serenity he had not seen before. Surrounded by greenery, she already seemed less pale, less sickly. Freed from stone and ash, she was coming back into her own.

The world around them was in twilight, and Eldarion saw with concern that the sun had set, meaning they had spent almost the full day in the confines of the tunnel. His defences were once more on alert as he considered the dangers that could come upon them at any moment now that darkness was falling. Celegorm's Orcs would be travelling through the shadows any moment now. He could only hope that they remained ignorant of the tunnels and would begin their search in Mordor and not in Ithilien, not believing they could yet have travelled so far. Still, once Mordor was exhausted, Ithilien would be next on their list.

Fighting the urge to curl up and sleep, he pushed himself to his feet and reached down to lift Neniel also. She moaned in protest, but allowed herself to be led along as he picked a way through the forest. His memory served him correctly and he soon came across a wall of rock overhung by an embankment within a closed circle of trees. It was not much of a shelter and offered little protection, but it was far enough away from the entrance to the tunnel to allow them to rest with a little more security. He helped Neniel down on the ground and sat down beside her, where she immediately curled up with eyes closed. He rested his stolen sword beside him and opened the pack he had brought, silently praying that he would find something useful.

It immediately became apparent that the pack had been abandoned far too long ago to be of much help. Soldiers rations that he found in it were ancient and inedible and the waterskin he found within was empty. A few rags he found would serve as bandages but neither of them were hurt much beyond a few cuts on their legs and feet from the sharp rocks of Mordor. A travel blanket he discovered was motheaten and threadbare, but nevertheless sufficient to be wrapped around the two of them providing they sat closely enough. A few other odds and ends were discarded before he refilled the pack with what was left, making it substantially lighter, but not reassuringly so. Eldarion lifted a small bottle of cordial he had discovered at the bottom. He vaguely recognised it as a remedy sold in Minas Tirith to ward against fevers of the brain, and he knew that such remedies were designed to remain unspoiled for years at a time. He unscrewed the lid and tried not to grimace at the foul aroma. It was not water, but it would have to serve. Screwing himself up, he took a swift gulp and swallowed it before he could taste much, shuddering as he did so, before passing it to Neniel, who had by now sat up to lean against the rock face. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You expect me to drink this?"

"What else do you suggest?"

"Water, of course."

"And where will I find water?" he asked, holding up his hands. "There are no streams around us, and I cannot go searching in the midst of night when Orcs may be around. It will have to suffice."

Neniel looked at the little bottle for a few moments more before she too swigged down an amount, coughing as she did so.

"What foul concoctions humans have," she said, pushing the bottle far away.

"Well unfortunately humans do not have the advantage Elves do of remaining immune to the ravages of the body," Eldarion said, a little more sharply than he intended. She simply laughed at him.

"It would almost be worth dying young if the alternative was to drink such remedies."

"No one is dying young around here," he said, eyeing her closely. "Understood?"

Neniel smiled sadly, drawing her arms around her legs. "There is often nothing we can do to prevent that. Especially if we have no water."

"Well, you're a Water Elf, aren't you?"

"And you think Water Elves can summon water from thin air?"

"I don't know anything about Water Elves," Eldarion admitted. "I did not think they existed. I've never really given thought to the matter."

Neniel's eyes became unfocused as her lips curled into another smile. "There are few of us," she said. "My grandfather's people are very proud and like to remain isolated. We have always lived in Middle-Earth, ever since the first awakening of the Elves before the First Age. We are more connected with this land than many of our distant kin. Its waters revitalise us, nourish us. We care for it, and in return it cares for us. We even have a measure of control over it, if it allows us. We cannot however create it at a whim."

"Pity," Eldarion said, trying to not think of his own burning thirst. "I wonder why I have never thought to learn more about your people."

"Because it did not interest you," Neniel said plainly. "I get the impression that you are a man who focuses only on what he wants, and all else does not matter."

"I wouldn't say that," Eldarion said, frowning. "Yes, I fix myself a goal and go after it, but that does not signify that all else falls by the wayside."

"Not intentionally perhaps," she said. "But it often is the case. I heard your conversations with the other human. You know very little of your own family history concerning the First Age, though it is within living memory of your immediate family."

Eldarion paused for a moment. "Yes, I admit I have never taken much of an interest there," he said. "I never saw the importance of it."

"You see it now?"

"Evidently. But how was I to know such knowledge would come in useful?"

"That's my point," Neniel said, smiling. "You never know what will. You must always be prepared for anything. We are both children of two worlds, both children of the Fellowship. It is good to know where you come from."

"I know exactly where I come from," Eldarion said, looking at his hands. "Elessar, the mighty king who is as a living god to our people."

"And you have only ever studied him and his deeds? Was that out of admiration or were you preparing yourself to outperform him?"

Eldarion remained silent a moment, considering her words. "I would listen to stories of Númenor," he said finally. "You know them? They were overcome by their folly, chasing after what they could never achieve. I should have listened more closely to the lessons it had for me."

Neniel looked at him for a long moment. "And you think being a worthy son of your father is a dream that is futile to chase after?"

"Isn't it?" Eldarion asked, avoiding her eyes. "Who could ever hope to match the great Elessar?"

"I might have to agree."

"What?" Eldarion stared at her, and saw her eyes were livelier than he had yet seen.

"Well, yes. I mean, your father was a Ranger, was he not?" she continued, eyes sparkling. "Did he pass nothing on? No water, no food, no clear plan of where we are. What sort of Ranger are you?"

"The royal kind," Eldarion said, a little miffed.

"They were all royal in essence. You mean the pampered kind," she said, still smiling. "Did you do any preparation at all before you led our escape attempt?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Exactly, you are impulsive."

"Impulsive! If it were not for me you'd still be there. I am no more impulsive than you were. Running off after an army with no preparation whatsoever."

"But I was not dragging a weakened prisoner along with me." she said. Then her teasing demeanour dropped and her eyes became dead once more. "Then again, my impulsiveness cost the life of my father."

Eldarion frowned and reached out to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "He is alive, princess. I swear it. Whatever impulsive actions you took, it did not cost him his life."

She raised her eyes to his. "I wish I could believe you," she said, her voice shuddering. "As reckless as you are, your heart is in the right place. In my case, I put much at risk out of selfishness. You at least are helping to save my life. That is of course if you are real and this is not all an imagining."

"I think if we were imagining this, we'd be a little warmer," Eldarion said, rubbing his hands together. "Pull that blanket tighter around yourself."

"We should share."

"You are weaker than I."

"Which means that my life depends on yours," she said, holding out the blanket to him. "Come, son of Elessar. Lie by me and keep us both warm. Perhaps we will survive this night and live to criticise each other's characters at a later date."

Eldarion hesitated as he saw her gesturing to her side with the blanket, suddenly irrationally embarrassed. "I do not think your father would approve-"

She burst out laughing and her face flooded with light. "I doubt that! Even if he is alive, as you say, I believe he would much less prefer me to freeze to death than needlessly follow useless propriety."

Eldarion laughed nervously, and inched closer to her. Together they huddled below the overhanging bank underneath the single blanket. Neniel was cold and shivered constantly, so he rested his hands on her arms to chafe some warmth into them, warming himself up as he did so.

"And by the way," Neniel murmured by his side. "I do indeed think your quest to outdo your father is futile. But not for the reason you do."

"Is that so?" he asked, his hands still moving over her frozen skin.

"Yes. There is no wisdom in matching yourself against another. You will always come up short."

He said nothing to this, but continued in his attempts to warm the both of them, curling up beneath the rough blanket and keeping each other as close as they could.

It was almost pleasant he thought, as he began to drift into sleep. Despite the danger around them, the darkness, the approaching enemies, the foulness they had just endured, lying there with Neniel was peaceful. Though not intending to sleep for long, he wished he could stay in this manner for hours.


	17. Chapter 17- By the Anduin

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this story!**

* * *

By the Anduin

The ride back to the army seemed interminably long to Aragorn and the sun had set by the time they reached the camp and the guards allowed them entry with joyous cheers. Only the feel of Eldarion sat behind him was enough to make it bearable. As they entered the camp and saw that the usual preparations had been made, they dismounted and servants led away their mounts. Bergil and his father Beregond were racing towards them and both had large grins on their faces.

"Prince Eldarion!" Bergil cried. "What joy it brings us to see you restored to us!"

Eldarion did little more than nod at Bergil or the others that had come to surround him. Aragorn watched him closely; he appeared dead on his feet. He turned to his men.

"Double the usual perimeter guard," he instructed, "and light more beacons. Once our Enemy discovers we have their prizes they will be upon us. I want no trace of shadow within ten feet of our boundary." He then turned to Legolas and the rest of his Company. "The rest of you with me until we have discussed all that needs to be said. Legolas, bring Neniel. We shall meet in the healer's tent."

Upon entry in the small but warm tent, Aragorn dismissed the army healers and prepared a cot for Neniel, setting water to boil and rooting through the packets of herbs and medicines. The others filed in behind him and by unspoken agreement made a line against the back wall of the tent and stayed out of the way as Aragorn moved swiftly around gathering supplies. Legolas had gently lain Neniel on the bed in the centre and she lay there still and pale, greatly resembling the way Eldarion had looked when he had first collapsed and lain in the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn knelt by her and tended her as best he could, and soon the sweet aroma of athelas filled the air. Though it seemed to revitalise all others in the room, for Neniel it did very little, other than to remove some of the shadow on her face. Aragorn paused in his ministrations, and sat back with a frown on his brow. There was something missing.

"She's in a fever," he mused aloud. "Elves never succumb to fever. What could cause this?"

"We fall to fever only in one instance," Elladan said. "Poison."

"The dart," Arveldir said suddenly. He moved to Neniel's side and pointed to a gash in her clothes in her abdomen. "When she was captured, they stabbed her with a poison dart."

Aragorn glanced at Eldarion who was watching nearby. "I remember," he said. He gently moved aside the cloth and revealed a wound black with festering poison which spiralled out like a spider's web into the surrounding flesh. "But this wound was caused almost two months ago. It should have killed her by now, or she should have recovered."

"It didn't affect her before," Eldarion said, who by now had sat himself down on a nearby bed, evidently trying to conceal how uncertain he was on his feet. "The fever didn't begin until this morning."

Aragorn considered for a moment, gently probing the wound with his fingers. He washed it and dressed it, smearing on some medicinal paste he produced quickly. "I have heard stories from Angband," he said as he worked. "The Orcs from the First Age had a particularly cruel way of subduing their prisoners. They'd incapacitate their foes with poisoned arrows before capture. Then, while they were in their dungeons, they would suffer the effects of their wounds. Each day when given their ration of water they would be given a weak antidote within it. Enough to keep them from dying, but not enough to cure. If they were to escape …"

"They would feel the full effects," Arveldir finished. He hung his head heavily. "I remember well those stories."

"But you can heal her now?" Legolas had turned to him, eyes eager and expectant. "You can find a cure?"

Aragorn hesitated. "Such is beyond my skill," he said, loathing the look of disappointment that had arisen on his friend's face. "But perhaps …" He turned to look at the sons of Elrond. "Your father's healing touch is legendary. What knowledge he passed unto you I ask you now to share."

The twins glanced at each other. "Our skills do not come close to Lord Elrond's," Elrohir admitted. "You received as much instruction from him as we did."

"But we shall try," Elladan added, seeing Legolas slump. "Perhaps there yet lies a power within us that can help."

The two elves knelt by the maiden and began chanting lines in Elvish too quietly to hear. Aragorn now stood and turned his attention to Eldarion who was still seated and seemed on the verge of collapse himself. He knelt by him and examined him with his eyes and hands, finding no injuries save chafing on his wrists from imprisonment and a slight dehydration and fatigue which could easily be remedied. As he treated the scrapes and bruises he forced Eldarion to look at him.

"Are you otherwise hurt?"

"No." Eldarion shook his head. "I am well."

"You are far from well," Aragorn replied, smiling. "But you are alive at least, and I am grateful."

"What about his leg?" Faramir asked. "Elboron said it had been broken."

"Neniel healed it," Eldarion said, eyes lost in memory. "She … I'm not sure exactly what she did …"

"She healed you?" Legolas asked incredulously from his position by his daughter's side. "That is what you meant then when you said she saved you?"

"Yes, she lent me her strength when Celegorm was … when he was trying to …" Eldarion trailed off, gulping and casting his eyes downwards, and he needed say no more for everyone to understand perfectly. "It healed my leg as well, though it aches still." His head shot up then and he leapt to his feet looking around swiftly. "Elboron told you about my leg? He's here then? Where? I felt him be hurt when he left!"

"He's here, and recovering, though not as swiftly as you seem to be," Éowyn said, and Elboron stood out from behind her. His face was still heavily bruised and his shoulder bandaged but he looked much better than he had even a few hours ago. He smiled at his friend and Eldarion cried out in joy and seized the other man in a warm embrace which was enthusiastically returned.

"Never will I call you a coward again, my friend," Eldarion said. "I who know how you always feared the horror of Cirith Ungol. To take on Shelob herself! I am relieved you managed to make it. I feared for you whenever I could not reach you."

"And I you," Elboron said, gripping his friend's shoulder. "When I felt what was happening to you …"

Eldarion winced, but then smiled again. "That was nothing." His eyes travelled to Elboron's shoulder. "You never were much of a climber, were you?"

Elboron laughed and pushed away. "It wasn't the climbing, rather the descent."

Eldarion laughed as well and then grew grave. "I owe you a debt. That idea of yours … I could never have come up with it. You saved us both. I was afraid when I couldn't sense you again after that. I'm relieved to see you."

"What idea?" Faramir asked sharply. He turned to his son with a furrowed brow. "You contacted him? When was this?"

Eldarion and Elboron exchanged a guilty look which Aragorn well remembered from their youth.

"The other night," Elboron admitted sheepishly. "I had an idea I thought could help the two of them escape. I had to share it."

Faramir stared at him. "That 'idea' left you in a deathlike trance, Elboron. You had not the strength to communicate with him over such a distance. It was foolhardy."

Elboron, who Aragorn would usually have expected to be cowed by such a reprimand, stood his ground and did not back down, eyeing his father with a determination that surprised him.

"I could not sit back and do nothing," Elboron said. "I had an idea, and I knew it was my duty to share it with them, no matter the cost to myself. It was the least I owed them after what they sacrificed to help me escape in Cirith Ungol. It was the right thing to do."

Faramir stood silently staring at him, his expression unreadable. Éowyn then came and stood by her husband, placing her hand on his arm and turning to Elboron, who stood waiting their response.

"Yes, it was," Éowyn said. "You demonstrated courage the match of the House of Eorl throughout this whole affair. I am proud of you."

"As am I," Éomer interjected, nodding fervently. "Men of Rohan do not abandon their friends while they have the strength to help them."

Faramir still said nothing. He breathed calmly and steadily and gave no indication of his opinion. Then, he took three steps forward and placed a hand on Elboron's uninjured shoulder. "And you showed bravery the match of your uncle Boromir's. You did well, my son."

Elboron stood still, a look of amazement on his face. Aragorn wondered whether he had ever received such direct praise from anyone before. He turned from this scene to look back at the rest of the company.

"Eldarion, you must tell us everything that happened after Elboron's escape," he said, though not relishing the thought of the finer details. "Tell us of this affair of Curufin and Celegorm, and the Silmarils."

Eldarion shot a look at Elboron. "Did you tell them about …"

Elboron nodded. "Everything," he said. "The thoughts, the magic …"

Eldarion winced, but Aragorn swiftly spoke before he could say anything. "We will pass over the reasons why you kept this from us, for that is now of no importance," he said, seeing Eldarion sigh visibly in relief. "Tell us now. Leave out no detail!"

Eldarion nodded, and then after a moment in which he seemed to be preparing, he began his tale. He spoke for an age on the Shadow Orcs in Morgul and the journey through Cirith Ungol as well as their arrival at the old watch tower. He spoke of Celegorm's introduction and his admission of desiring to reunite the Silmarils, speaking twice as loudly to cover the audible gasps as he revealed the elf's plan; it seemed he had no desire to halt once he had begun. He related Celegorm's words, and the prophecy concerning the royals and then briefly outlined his torment at the hands of his captor, the draining of magical energy. He related Neniel's assistance in restoring his strength, causing Legolas to clutch more tightly to his daughter's hand as his features softened into pride. He then told of Elboron's plan to use the light of Eärendil to escape and their perilous journey through Mordor and the tunnel to Ithilien, relating every hour almost until coming across the company in the forest. Then he stopped and slumped, worn out by the telling.

Aragorn was numb in amazement. The plan of the two undead Elves seemed impossible, yet so many had already died for it. To reunite the Silmarils; that had not been done since they had been bound together in Morgoth's crown. The sons of Fëanor had not softened over the ages. The thought of the two of them torturing his son, collecting royal youths in order to use their blood in their own personal quest for glory was sickening.

The people around him had erupted into frenzied conversation, loudly asking questions of Eldarion, lamenting their plight, cursing the Elves and more general inanity. Aragorn remained silent, thinking hard. What could be done against such an evil?

He held up his hand and immediately everyone fell silent. He looked to Eldarion and Elboron. "Whatever is to be done against this new threat, it will not be done tonight," he said. "Both of you will remain here with Neniel tonight and rest; you have more than earned it. Guards will be placed around this tent and every man in this army will be charged with their protection. Once daylight comes, we must keep moving and bring the army to Osgiliath. If Eldarion is right and Orcs cannot appear within city walls, we shall be safe there. The three of you must be removed from this fight until we know more. Once on protected ground we shall all meet in council and decide what is to be done. Emissaries must be sent to Dale to warn them of the danger to their prince."

"I can do that," Gimli said gruffly.

Aragorn looked around at the assemblage, glad to see no fear on their faces, but quiet resilience and determination that strengthened his own heart.

"Go now and do what must be done to preserve us until daylight," he said. "We have won a victory today. Caught in the plans of two madmen we may be, but we will not be taken advantage of. We now have the upper hand. Do not forget that."

One by one, the company of his closest allies bowed and left the tent, save the three youths and their immediate families. Elladan and Elrohir still worked tirelessly on Neniel with her father close by, and Elboron was sitting with his mother and father. Eldarion was on his own and looked ready to collapse into the nearest bed. Aragorn drew him aside and then pulled him into a tight embrace which made the younger man freeze in astonishment. Aragorn pulled back and saw Eldarion's shocked expression

"I am proud of you, my son," Aragorn said, cupping his face with a hand. "Welcome back."

Eldarion nodded dumbly and turned away, leaving Aragorn staring at his back. The doubts he had experienced several weeks ago came flooding back as he remembered how afraid Eldarion had been of confiding in him. Was this formality that existed between them the reason for such reluctance? From now on he resolved to never let that occur again. They had been much closer in Eldarion's youth, and he could only guess that as the duties of the royal heir increased, so too had the distance between them. Things would be different from now on.

* * *

After so much time on constant alert in captivity and on the run, Eldarion was almost bored by the slow trudge through the woods on their way to Osgiliath. He had been loaned a horse and instructed by his father not to overexert himself on their journey, though Eldarion could not see what could be so taxing about riding at a pace compatible with an entire army. They rode through the outskirts of Emyn Arnen towards the banks of the Anduin which they would follow to Osgiliath. The gently sloping hills were bare of trees and offered no shadow in which enemies could spawn, but neither did they offer any protection from prying eyes. He glanced up at the sky and was reassured by the cheerful sight of the sun high above him. A lingering fear however drove all complacency from his mind. He felt their escape had been almost too easy.

By his side Elboron rode, wincing every so often as the uneven road jolted his injured shoulder and a similar jolt hit Eldarion. The two had decided that keeping up their mental barriers was too physically draining for the present. He made no complaint however. Eldarion brought his horse closer.

"Are you alright?"

Elboron nodded with a grimace. "It's healing, though slowly. It is my own fault for being so careless."

"One can hardly blame a man for his haste while being pursued by such a monstrosity," Eldarion observed. "And you're so afraid of heights you probably did it with your eyes closed!"

"Hush," Elboron said quickly, glancing around. His fear of heights was known only to Eldarion, and the younger man had spent a long time trying to conceal it. "Do not speak so loudly. It's bad enough everyone knows how afraid I was of Shelob. That at least is a rational fear."

"And falling from a height of several hundred feet is irrational?" Eldarion pointed out. He frowned. "I felt it when you fell, you know. I feared you had been caught."

"I wonder what you would have experienced," Elboron said quietly, "if Shelob had caught and killed me. Would you have felt my death?"

Eldarion shuddered. "Let us not think of that," he said swiftly.

Elboron glanced at Eldarion's leg. "It is typical of your luck that your own injury no longer plagues you."

"I'm not sure the price was worth it," Eldarion said, glancing behind to see Neniel, who was riding in front of her father, eyes tightly closed. His uncles had tended to her all night, yet still she was in the grips of fever. "She left herself so weak."

"Could we help her?" Elboron asked. "Send her some of our own strength?"

"I've already tried," Eldarion admitted. "Her mind is like a wall to me now. I can barely sense her. Can you?"

Elboron shook his head. "Her mind has been steadily growing fainter to me. But then, you and she seem to have a stronger bond, just as I seem to have a stronger bond with this boy in Dale." he hesitated and bit his lip. "I almost fear accessing this link we all share now. It only seems to serve to weaken us."

"Not so," Eldarion said, looking at him. "Without it, we'd all still be in the clutches of Celegorm and Curufin. We need only learn to use it properly."

"That is what I fear," Elboron said. "We know nothing of this magic. It is dangerous territory."

"You are too cautious, Elboron."

"And you are not cautious enough," Elboron said, eyeing him beadily. "You know Bergil spoke to me after that first encounter with the Orcs to tell me he thought you too reckless."

"Did he indeed?" Eldarion asked, glaring at Bergil's back in front of him. "How dare he-"

"He has a point," Elboron said. "You tend not to think things through, Eldarion, and that is the reason for many of your problems. We know nothing about this power, and you are willing to plunge headlong into experimenting with it. I may be a coward, but I do not think it wise."

"You are no coward," Eldarion said, remembering with a pang the words he had spoken to Elboron before they were captured. "I welcome your caution, but without experimenting, how shall we ever learn more about this power? We must temper caution with action." He smiled softly at his friend. "You are about the only person in Middle-Earth that I would take such comments from without striking them in the face, you know that? Bergil is wise not to speak directly to me."

Elboron laughed wryly. "You've already struck me in the face," he noted, pointing to an older bruise on his jaw from their fight. "But I take your point."

It was then that Eldarion noticed Faramir close behind them, watching intently. He inched closer to Elboron and switched to Elvish, which he knew Faramir was not nearly so fluent in as his son.

"I think your father disapproves of our conspiring," he noted, and Elboron nodded with a sigh.

"He fears that we shall return to our ways of secrecy and that we shall do something foolish. He is not wrong in thinking thus apparently, considering what you intend to do."

"I think both our families will be keeping a closer eye on us now," Eldarion said, seeing his father glance back at him for the tenth time that hour. "We'll be confined like we were as children. I suppose we deserve it."

Elboron laughed out loud, making several people around them jump and stare at them.

"Sorry," Elboron said, seeing Eldarion's quizzical expression. "But that must be the first time you've ever admitted to deserving punishment!"

Eldarion frowned, but then joined his friend in laughter. Faramir watched them suspiciously a few moments, but finding no apparent cause for their hilarity seemed to dismiss it with a shake of his head. The gesture was so familiar from their youth that it only made them laugh louder. It felt good to laugh like this, he thought. He had missed such simple acts.

As they laughed, Eldarion suddenly became aware of a lightening of the furthest reaches of his mind, a brightness beginning to burn there and grow stronger. His soul was eased and a familiar presence seemed to welcomed inside, embracing his very insides with a warm glow. He stopped laughing suddenly and turned his head sharply to look at Neniel. While there was no visible sign on her body, he could sense _something_ from her, an awakening perhaps. There was a warmth now emanating from her which had been extinguished of late. His heart leapt.

He looked to Elboron who had also turned to look at Neniel. Their eyes met.

"You felt that?" Eldarion asked, and Elboron nodded.

"Is she recovering?"

"I hope so," Eldarion said quietly, watching her a moment. "She loves laughter. Perhaps that was what stirred her so."

He became aware a second later that Elboron was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Eldarion recognised that expression perfectly, and quickly turned back to face the front and gripped his reins tightly.

"Just how close did you and Neniel become in that dungeon?" Elboron asked, barely suppressing his knowing smile.

"Hush," Eldarion said immediately, dreading the keen ears of Legolas hearing this particular conversation. "There is nothing to say."

Elboron scoffed loudly. "I don't need this link in order to understand those thoughts, Eldarion. You're turning pink."

"I am not."

"Suit yourself," Elboron said, rolling his eyes. "Even in the midst of war you remain as ever the eternal philandering prince. They should write ballads about you."

"We were _prisoners_ , Elboron!"

"So were Beren and Lúthien once."

Eldarion turned fully around in his saddle to face Elboron, but before he could launch into a staunch denial of all that he implied he was cut short by a sudden darkness that had come over the company. Looking up, Eldarion saw that the sun had vanished, veiled by thick clouds of shadow which had turned day into night. The world had gone cold and silent. A palpable terror hung over the scene. Eldarion froze and his pulse quickened; the foreboding in his heart which he had almost entirely dismissed now was vindicated.

"Shadow from Mordor!" Éomer called, riding up the column of soldiers to reach Aragorn. "Such as what came before the armies of Sauron to ease their passage. They are coming."

The king halted in his path and stared back across the land they had come across. "Our army has been sighted, they know where we are," he said. "They will be upon us any moment."

Even as he said these words, shouts rang out from the rear of the army, and the clanging of swords and whinnying of horses rippled up the length of the assembled soldiers. Eldarion and Elboron swung their own steeds around and drew their swords. Eldarion felt his heart beating strongly, he was eager to be back in the fight, to avenge the harsh treatment they had doled out during his captivity. It appeared however that this was not to be the case.

His father had ridden up swiftly and motioned Legolas to come as well. "The shores of the Anduin lie yonder," he said, pointing at the new bridge which was now visible just below. "Osgiliath is only a short journey thence. We cannot risk these three being captured once more."

"What are you saying?" Eldarion demanded, painfully aware of the encroaching sound of battle.

His father looked him in the eyes, his own face grey with worry. "I'm saying that you should ride on," he said. "Take Neniel and the three of you make for Osgiliath while we keep them occupied."

"No way!" Eldarion cried, and found that Elboron had also done so, staring at the king with incredulity.

"We cannot abandon you all," Elboron insisted, but the king cut across him.

"All three of you are not fit to be in battle," his father said firmly. "And Neniel the least. You must go, for if you are captured all this will be for naught. Ride now!"

"But-" Eldarion protested, not wanting to be seen to run from a fight, but his father would not hear of it.

"Forget your pride, Eldarion," he demanded, "and save yourself and your comrades. Obey me in this."

Eldarion wanted to resist, he wanted so badly to stay and prove himself, but he could not go against his father. He saw Elboron still gripping his sword, but in his weaker left hand due to his injury, and Neniel still lifeless. He knew he had a duty here, though it irked him to run.

He nodded, and Legolas immediately passed Neniel to him, resting her just before him on the saddle. Eldarion supported her with one arm, still amazed at how light she was and gripped his reins with the other. His father clapped him on the shoulder.

" _Galo Anor erin râd dhîn_ ," he said, and without waiting another moment, Eldarion leapt into action, riding his horse as hard as he dared with Elboron close behind. Every inch that took him from his father was painful. He could hear nothing but the rushing of the wind by his ears but he could imagine the fury of the fight going on behind him. _Keep riding,_ he told him himself. _Don't look back. Keep going._

Across their link he could sense Elboron's fear, as well as feel the stabbing pain he was experiencing from his many wounds. From Neniel too he could sense something now. The lightness which he had sensed before was growing stronger, even as the darkness around them increased. She began to stir in his arms and he gripped her more tightly, afraid she would fall from the saddle. Her closed barriers were now beginning to be broken down. His mind was filled now with pictures of Legolas, and he knew where her thoughts lay; she too resented being told to abandon her family. She was more aware of her surroundings than they had thought.

The shore of the Anduin was upon them now and Eldarion led the way towards the newly constructed bridge whose new stone appeared almost white in the dimness around them. They clattered across the span of the stone arch and pounded the sandy shore on the other side before Eldarion finally stopped and turned his horse for one last look before continuing on to Osgiliath. He immediately wished he had not.

The army of Shadow Orcs was greater than anything he had yet seen. Tall dark shapes with unnaturally glowing skin were falling upon the army like a swarm of cockroaches. For as many Orcs that dissolved into shadow, yet more rose to take their place ever more terrible. The weapons flashed silver at this distance as they sliced through the air sending Orcs into shadow and humans toppling to the ground. Screams of dying men filed the air.

The two men watched in horror as they saw the army being pushed to the shores by the sheer onslaught of the Enemy, outnumbered and outmanoeuvred.

"They're cut off," Elboron said in shock. "They have nowhere to go."

Unable to back up any further, and faced with the prospect of a bottleneck at the bridge, Eldarion's father had repositioned his men along the water's edge for a final defence. But Eldarion had studied enough of battle to know that this would be futile. The Orcs had every advantage. This would turn into a slaughter.

He hesitated, his hand upon his sword. He could already see himself flying back over the bride and plunging into battle to protect his father and his kingdom, winning the glory he had always dreamed of. But he also saw himself turning his back on his father and riding along the road to Osgiliath with his injured friends in tow. It would not be dishonourable to protect them, would it? It would be his duty to ensure their safety and to obey his father's last command.

And if the battle did go ill, he would become king.

Eldarion's resolve was now fixed. Gondor needed a stronger king than him, and that king was at this moment surrounded by enemies. He would best serve his kingdom by protecting him. He would be too poor a substitute.

"Elboron, take Neniel and go to Osgiliath," he commanded, turning to his friend, but Elboron pulled his horse away with anger on his face.

"I will not leave you again," Elboron said, scowling. "Do not ask it of me."

"I do not ask," Eldarion said, "I command for I am your prince and future king!"

Elboron was not swayed and remained firm. "As I am future Steward. And I have already told you, your recklessness will be your downfall."

"Elboron, we have no time-"

A horrible cry met their ears across the width of the river and they snapped their heads around to see an Orc had spotted them on the shore and was hollering at them. Near to him stood Eldarion's father, Andúril in hand waving frantically to the two of them, urging them on. But Eldarion knew it was now too late. The Orc had vanished into the shadows.

A second later, the Orc had rematerialised before them on the shores. Eldarion was ready for him. With a mighty cry he drew his sword and charged towards the Orc, his sword swinging wildly. The Orc, whether disoriented by the transfer or simply slow, did not raise his own weapon in time, and the next moment had disintegrated into shadow.

Eldarion clutched his sword tighter and glanced back over the river, seeing that other Orcs had also spotted them standing there. It was only a matter of time before they too appeared in the shadows on this side of the Anduin.

"Now we must fight," Eldarion said, but as much as he had wished for confrontation, he now was hesitant. How well could he fight with Neniel perched precariously in front of him like this? And Elboron, what would become of him with one good arm?

" _Do not fear, son of Elessar_ ," said a soft voice in his mind. _"All will be well."_

Eldarion looked down at Neniel, whose eyes had now opened. She laughed quietly, and immediately his heart felt lighter.

"Place me in the water," she said aloud, voice weak and raspy.

"But-"

"Do it," she said. "It … it will revive me."

Eldarion looked at Elboron who looked just as bewildered. But as strange as the request seemed, especially in the midst of battle, something in the back of his mind told him to obey, to trust this elf who was still much of a stranger to him. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run or to fight, but this one voice inside of him told him to wait, to follow her request.

He decided to trust it.

He swung himself off his horse and lifted Neniel down from the saddle, and carrying her stumbled towards the water's edge. She looked at him the whole time with eyes which were large and penetrating. He waded into the water, fast flowing and shockingly cold around his legs. He began to lower Neniel towards the river.

"Wait!"

Elboron had followed him into the river and was fiddling with something at his neck.

"I think you need this back," he said to Neniel, slipping a simple chain around her neck, at the end of which was a plain stone; the talisman she had loaned to him in Cirith Ungol. She smiled as the stone settled against her skin and a new sense of bliss was communicated along their shared link. The link between their three minds became stronger, flowed more powerfully than before. They became as one. Eldarion bent his knees and lowered Neniel down into the swift river.

As soon as her flesh made contact with the clear, cool water he sensed a jolt running through her body, and when she was covered entirely he gasped aloud with the sheer energy that was spilling from her. He could feel her blood tearing through her veins, her nerves tingling, her limbs restoring and her flesh healing almost as if it were his own. With a cry he stepped back, letting go of the elf maiden, seeing her body settle onto the floor of the river, though he had no fear of her drowning. His own body was trembling.

Then the dark form lying along the river bed glowed with a light so bright it seemed to entirely vanish the darkness around them. He turned away his eyes, fearing that they would be burned by the sheer force of the light, so pure and wondrous it was. The water around them became to bubble and froth, and he and Elboron hastily backed out of the river, tumbling together on the shore and looking on in awe.

A figure had arisen out of the water, shining and radiating its brilliance all around, banishing any shadow it fell upon. As Eldarion looked closer he saw that the figure was Neniel, but no longer was she sickly and frail. Now, for the first time he saw her in all her glory, an immortal elven princess, a daughter of kings. Her back was straight, her flesh unmarred and glowing, her face drained of care and the hollowness that had haunted it. Her eyes shone with vehement fervour as she looked across the river towards the army of Orcs which had frozen at this vision before them.

Eldarion forgot to breathe, so mesmerised at the sight before him. He sensed no pain from Neniel now, no suffering or weakness. What he did sense was power.

Neniel fixed her eyes on the opposite shore and raised one pale arm to shoulder height with seemingly little effort sending a rippling force across the water. Before her rose a great wave, spitting and frothing, roaring louder than dragons and with a push of her hand it rushed towards the Orcs, its roar growing ever louder and more terrible. Eldarion clapped his hands over his ears. It was the sound of approaching doom.

With an enormous crash, the wave broke upon the shore sending water flooding across the plain, lapping at the roots of trees and the bases of boulders. Up went an almighty cry, and the army of Orcs had vanished, shadowy vapours passing away like smoke and it seemed that a break appeared in the sky and light flooded through and fell upon the remaining creatures on the shore. What remained of the king's army stood amazed, transfixed by the sight of the Elvish sorceress standing alone in the water.

Eldarion and Elboron were still lying upon the beach, frozen in place. Eldarion blinked several times in disbelief, but every time he opened his eyes once more there Neniel still stood, strong and faintly glowing with the light of the Valar themselves, for who else could possess such power? It appeared as if Neniel had become as Ulmo himself, the Valar Lord of all Waters.

Recovering slightly as the glow surrounding her began to fade, he scrambled to his feet, still staring at her, barely noticing Elboron also rise beside him. Neither of them said anything.

A clattering of hooves met their ears and they turned as if waking from a dream. Eldarion's father and most of his Council were riding towards them fresh from battle, some bearing minor wounds. Foremost of them all was Legolas who had leapt from his horse even before it had come to a halt. He cast his eyes towards the water.

" _Neniel!"_ he cried. " _Mae garnen!"_

It was only then that Neniel turned and faced the shore she had come from. Her face was no longer haggard or drawn, but full of vitality. The clear stone upon her breast gleamed brightly and set her face aglow. As soon as her gaze fell on him, it erupted with delight.

" _Ada!"_ she cried, and she rushed towards him, cutting through the water as easily as if it were air and he ran to meet her, scooping her up into his arms and holding her tightly as they both laughed with joyful reunion.

She pulled back and beamed at him. "A shadow has been lifted, _ada_ ," she said, eyes roaming over his face. "I no longer founder in the darkness. I can see clearly once more. You are alive, and we are together again."

"Yes, we are," Legolas said, his hand against her cheek. "My most precious treasure. Long you have suffered, and now you are free."

She laughed again, sending ripples of joy through all those that heard that laugh. She turned her eyes to Eldarion and Elboron who were both still speechless. Eldarion froze as his eyes met hers and a new feeling went flooding through him; he did not want those eyes to ever leave him.

"Free thanks to these two," she said, smiling. "Strangers they are, yet not so, for I know them most intimately." She paused to take a step closer to the two men as everyone watched. Eldarion felt his heart beat a little quicker.

She stopped before them and frowned slightly. "I do not understand what it is that links us," she said, "but I am most grateful for it. You saved my life."

"As you just did all of ours," Elboron said, when Eldarion found he could not speak. "What you just did …"

"Is something not even I understand," Neniel said, still smiling. "Water Elves are attuned to the waters of Middle-Earth, but we have no special control over it. It was the luck of fate that the Valar in their grace allowed me such power."

"Fate, indeed," Eldarion said, causing Neniel to look at him again.

"There is much that is unexplained in recent days," Eldarion's father said then, watching the three youths with an almost wary expression. "Much suffering, toil and confusion has been endured by all. Let us ride now to Osgiliath and meet in Council. Perhaps then we may find some answers."

The Company then made ready to depart, remounting horses and issuing commands for the reorganisation of the scattered army to resume their march. As Eldarion turned to mount his own horse he sensed rather than felt Neniel staring at him. He turned his head slightly and saw Neniel riding with her father. She looked at him with a gaze so penetrating he doubted she needed their mental link to know his deepest thoughts. Something passed between them, a silent understanding, a bond of fellowship, he wasn't sure.

" _It appears you were right, son of Elessar,"_ he heard her musical voice in his mind, now stronger than ever before. " _I have some role to play in this war after all."_

He bowed his head to her. " _Then it is unconceivable to me that we should ever lose. You are more than you realise … Lalaith."_

He saw her smile, the sight sending spams of happiness through his body, before she and her father were swept away by the rapidly moving army as it prepared to depart. As he joined the procession in his usual place, he could not resist giving himself a small smile.

They had won a victory today. The Shadow was already beginning to pass.

* * *

 **Sindarin Elvish:**

 **Galo Anor erin râd dhîn** **\- May the sun shine on your path (Good luck)**

 **Mae garnen- Well done**


End file.
